


Resonance

by Dani Dandelion (rat_insatiable)



Category: Keroro Gunsou | Sgt. Frog
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7255054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rat_insatiable/pseuds/Dani%20Dandelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Keroro Platoon leaves on a flea-extermination mission. Things don't go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disposal Point

When Mois caught the space flea's signal on radar late one night, the Keroro Platoon dropped everything and left to intercept. No time for excuses, notes, or goodbyes.

A single flea could reduce a planet to hollow ruins. Alien races had enacted measures to deal with them centuries ago, and invader coalitions forged treaties to protect the less-advanced worlds. Military recon teams could be tasked with defending the place they were sent to conquer, or risk having nothing left to invade.

Deflecting the flea's trajectory from the safety of their underground base wasn't an option for the platoon, as lasers and missiles glanced off its dense body plating. Even Mois couldn't Armageddon it into star stuff—the Angols themselves had created space fleas to destroy worlds they found to be unworthy. But the creatures proved impossible to control, and still plagued the ever-expanding universe millennia after that mistake.

While drifting through space, however, the flea entered a state of hibernation. This gave the platoon time to snare it in their ship's electronic net before it could enter Earth's orbit. They set a course for the Andromeda Galaxy, and carried the flea safely away from human civilization.

—

"Well, that was easy." Keroro leaned back in his commander's seat, arms behind his head and feet propped on the console before him. "I bet we'll have this all wrapped up before Master Fuyuki and Miss Natsumi wake up tomorrow morning."

"But we can't 'wrap up' anything until we reach the disposal point," Giroro said, standing near Keroro with his arms crossed. "And would it kill you to take this a little more seriously?"

"I _know,_ I know!" Keroro rolled his eyes and sighed with more drama than any other platoon's commander. "I sat through the same lectures as everyone else to learn about the stupid things. Dealing with 'em is just so _boring._ "

Tamama peered around the back of his chair from his position at the front of the bridge. "You've done flea extermination before, Sarge?"

Keroro slumped lower in his seat with a pout. "Not really, but anyone can tell you it's about as exciting as watching paint peel. Why can't they be good and explode like everything else?"

"Brute force is useless against something created for destruction itself," said Dororo. "In this case, wiser measures must be taken."

Keroro and Giroro noticed the lance corporal standing with them for the first time since leaving Earth, while Tamama stared with zero comprehension.

"He means we get to take it out back and shoot it. With hyper-corrosive acid." Kururu kept his eyes on the navigation holo-screen on the right side of the bridge. The spiraling arms of the Milky Way receded into the lower corner as Andromeda drew up to meet them. "But we have to drag it someplace uninhabited first, and that takes more time than the actual act of killing it in its sleep."

Keroro grimaced. "Yeesh, way to make us sound like murderers."

Kururu shrugged, arms showing from either side of his chair. "Space-PETA we ain't."

"Nevertheless, it's our duty as an advanced race to protect Pekopon from disaster," Dororo said.

"Or keep it ripe for invasion. Whatever helps you sleep at night." The holo-screen masked the reflection of Kururu's smirk in the window.

"We're keeping Fukki and Nacchi and everyone safe, too," Tamama said, then added with a bright smile, "We're gonna be their heroes!" But behind that cheery countenance, spiteful thoughts simmered. _While that bimbo gets to stay home and be worthless._

"But I have enough chores as it is," Keroro moaned.

Giroro turned to Keroro. "It's not like you had anything better to do." He curled his lip, showing his fangs. "Like a certain _other_ mission."

"Your _face_ has nothing better to do, gun nut!" Keroro jumped up in his chair and brandished his pointer finger. " _You're_ not about to miss the street date on the newest Gunpla!"

Giroro clenched his fists and reached Keroro in two strides. Dororo moved to intercept an inevitable scuffle, while Tamama opened the compartment below his control panel to grab the popcorn he'd stashed in advance.

"Navigator speaking." Kururu interrupted the proceedings with a fair imitation of a commercial airline pilot. "Now approaching the target site, Planet XV-Kas, population zero. Making contact in... oh that's not good."

Keroro knit his brow. "Kururu?" The entire ship jolted, and he squawked, gripping one of his chair arms with both hands. "What's going on?!"

Kururu's laughter was a little fast. "Looks like our bundle of joy woke up."

* * *

Keroro bolted up from a hard surface. He slowly peered around, wide eyes sweeping a barren landscape.

Then he spat, wondering when he'd gotten so much dust in his mouth. He pawed at the reddish-brown rock around him—nothing but hard-packed grit mixed with some gravel.

"Guys?" He got to his feet. "Anybody out there?"

A universally flat horizon overcast with rust-colored clouds punctuated the silence. Keroro lifted a hand to the rank insignia on his hat; whatever those clouds contained couldn't be healthy, he decided.

He gave the symbol a little tweak with his fingertips, and nothing happened.

"Anti-barrier's broken? I better find cover." He scanned the naked red expanse in all directions. Dust shifted in the breeze to cover nothing. "And where'd everyone go, anyway?"

With no landmarks to guide him, he started walking. The wind blew a dust cloud against him, and he stopped to shield his eyes.

He continued on with his mind working. For no discernible reason, the space flea had awoken, and torn the ship apart. Things were blank after that, but so far he saw no hull fragments and no flea. And somehow, he'd landed on the planet's surface without the slightest injury.

No bodies around, either.

He stumbled, regained his balance with a hard stamp, and balled his hands into fists.

"Of _course_ they're alive! Don't be stupid!" The increased force of his footsteps left tiny plumes of dust in his wake. "That's why you're looking for them. And you call yourself a commander!"

A deep rumble cut Keroro's one-man conversation short, and he stared at the darkening clouds. With all the dust clinging to his skin, he hadn't noticed the change in humidity. He didn't want to deal with alien rain in the absence of his anti-barrier's environmental protection, marginal as it was. Judging from the lack of visible life, the precipitation was acidic, or worse.

Keroro stood on tiptoe; he peered in one direction, then another, scuffing the dust with hasty turns. Nothing but flat red rock in every direction.

Something cold clenched inside him, and worked its way past his throat.

" _Heeey!_ " he yelled. "Giroro! Kururu! Tamama! Dororo! _Somebody answer me!_ "

A shotgun bang of thunder made him jump. He sat down hard, heart pounding, breathing heavy.

"Maybe they can't hear me." His eyes stung. "They couldn't have landed that far away." He stared at the ground, wind blowing his hat's stained earflaps around his face. "Yeah, that's it. That makes sense."

He stayed like that for a moment, then gazed skyward.

"But if they don't hear this..."

* * *

Tamama dodged around pillars of weathered rock and creaking dead trees. He'd woken up less than an hour ago, suspended upside-down by his seatbelt in his ejected chair, lodged between two tall boulders. After righting himself and waiting for the extra blood to drain from his head, he'd jogged away to search for the others.

He'd activated his anti-barrier after seeing the odd-colored storm clouds. Its temporary life-support wasn't absolute protection against whatever chemicals the planet's rain consisted of, but until he could find cover, he had to take what he could get.

"I hope the others aren't too far. 'Specially Sarge." He leaped a wide crevice without breaking his pace. "This place is way creepy, though. Is the whole planet this empty?"

Thunder boomed. Just as he considered going back to use the crevice as shelter, something else echoed across the scenery.

_Gero gero gero gero..._

Tamama stopped, eyes wide and jaw slack. Then he clasped his hands to his chest and squealed, " _Sarge!_ " He took off, crushing smaller rocks into dust under his feet. "Hold on, Sargey! Your cute and lovely Tamama is coming to save you!"

Following the sergeant's resonance, Tamama tore across the plain, his search for shelter forgotten.

Then the ground dropped out from under him. The plain ended in a cliff.

His scream quickly receded from the edge as the rain began to fall.

* * *

A fat raindrop, shot through with rust, pelted right through the top of Keroro's hat.

He quit resonating with a squeak, and sprang up. "No! The acid rain's gonna melt me!" Drops pockmarked the ground at lazy intervals as he ran in circles. When the downpour began in earnest, he doubled his speed. " _Gero!_ What a world, what a wor—"

He stopped in mid-scamper, and stared at his hands. The rain cut dark rivulets through the dust on his skin, and did nothing else.

"Oh, it's just dirty." He jabbed a finger at the clouds. "Don't scare me like that!"

Lightning struck the ground ten feet away.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!" He sprinted across the flatland, kicking up a wave of brick-colored mud behind him. That is, until the edge of the plateau rushed out from under him so fast, he didn't realize what had happened until he was hovering in midair over a deep canyon.

Then he looked down, allowing logic and gravity to gang up on him.

He screamed and flailed at the air rushing past with two grasping hands, then something slammed into his middle. After a moment of high-speed flight, Keroro found himself feet-first on solid ground.

"Commander! Are you all right?"

Keroro's vision took turns spinning halfway in either direction. When he tried to face the voice, he lost his balance and fell on his back.

Worried and familiar blue eyes moved into Keroro's line of sight above him.

Keroro sprang up and hugged his rescuer. " _Dororo!_ "

Dororo stumbled back a step, arms coming up to catch the sudden embrace out of reflex. But when Keroro took a sobbing breath and clung to him harder, Dororo gently reciprocated.

He waited while Keroro got himself together. "I'm glad you're all right."

After a long moment, Keroro released his childhood friend, and stepped back for a quick appraisal. Dororo was just as dirty and rained-on as he was, but appeared unhurt, and no worse for the wear. "Looks like you made it out in one piece."

Dororo nodded. "I hope we can say the same for the others."

"You mean you haven't seen anyone else around yet?"

"I'm afraid not." Dororo peered down the length of the narrow, high-walled canyon. "I can sense two of them, however. Kururu and Tamama are somewhere in that direction, though they're too far to pinpoint."

"Awright then!" Keroro spun on one heel, ignoring whatever Dororo was still saying, and started walking that way with jaunty, leader-like steps. "Then we'll go find Giroro too, right? I tell ya, if he's any farther out than those two, I'm gonna give him the business!"

"Commander, I still haven't—"

"Or what if he's way off in the opposite direction? I swear, if I have to walk all over this stupid planet—"

"Wait." Dororo stalled Keroro with a hand on his shoulder. Keroro turned with a complaint ready, but kept silent when Dororo caught his gaze. "I don't know where Giroro is."

Keroro's irritation slid off his face. "What? Can't you sense his presence or something? How far away is he?"

"I have no idea." Dororo let his hand drop. "If it's not just a matter of distance, then something may have happened to him."

Keroro's expression tensed, then he scoffed. "No way! This is the guerrilla war survival fanboy we're talking about. One little crash-landing's not gonna do him in." His _gero-gero-gero_ struck the canyon walls, and he kept walking, arms folded behind his head.

"I hope you're right." Dororo kept pace beside him. "There's a shelter just a short walk from here; we can sleep there for tonight. It even has a small storage of food and water."

Keroro turned on Dororo, hat flaps whirling. "You landed next to _food?!_ I woke up in the middle of nowhere! Couldn't even find any ship scraps around. It... it was weird." He faced forward again, staring at the ground as he walked. "No sign of anyone."

A few moments of quiet travel, until Dororo spoke. "I was surprised to find such a structure. XV-Kas is supposed to be a long-dead planet."

Keroro hummed in thought. "Yeah, it was the closest disposal area Kururu could find. Or maybe it's not really...?"

Dororo shook his head. "Aside from us, it's absolutely barren." He peered into the darkening sky. The narrow passage mitigated the rain coming into the canyon. "Space fleas are only attracted to worlds with thriving civilizations. That food storage is merely a remnant."

Keroro kicked a pebble down the path. "So why'd it wake up and ruin our day?"

"Maybe it's drawn to traces of past civilization."

Keroro grumbled. "But that's _cheating._ "

Moist footsteps and rain dripping down the canyon walls filled the lapse in conversation.

Then Keroro groaned. "I'm starving! How much longer 'til we get there?"

"Not long at all." Dororo pointed ahead. "In fact, as soon as we come out of the canyon, you should see—"

"Is it that?" Keroro stood on tiptoe, peering at a dull grey dome poking up from behind one of the lower canyon walls. At Dororo's nod, Keroro jumped and punched the air. " _Yahoo!_ Food, food, food for me!" He dashed for the building at top speed.

* * *

Tamama opened his eyes to a dull roar coming from between his ears, and a tapping noise far louder to him than anyone else. His vision started out hazy, which didn't stop him from recognizing the figure sitting just a few feet away. Unwilling to deal, he snapped his eyes shut.

"Cut the act, I know you're awake."

Tamama groaned. Of all the platoon members to reunite with first, it had to be him.

"You couldn't have hit your head that hard, if you're already conscious." That infernal tapping never ceased. "But you might as well use this chance to relax. We're not leavin' here anytime soon."

A solitary laptop screen illuminated Tamama's redstone surroundings. The cave made for close quarters with its other occupant, typing away on the keyboard.

"What do you mean, Kururu?" Tamama sat up in stages to keep his headache from spiking. "Don't we hafta find Sarge and the others?" He pointed at the scuffed laptop on the floor. "Can't you track 'em?"

"Do you think we'd be separated if I could?" When Kururu's response was met with a blank stare, he huffed and gestured at the screen. "Come see for yourself."

Tamama wasn't up to standing quite yet, but Kururu was only a few Keronian body lengths away, seated against the opposite wall. The private shuffled over on his hands and knees, and Kururu turned the laptop toward him. Tamama squinted against the screen's glare—his headache wasn't making it easy to look at—until the contours of a terrain map came into view. It was mostly elevated areas with a more distinct line snaking through it, as if carved by a river.

He wasn't sure why it should have been familiar. "Hey Kururu, where are we?"

Kururu pointed at the right side of the screen. "We're sittin' on the northern edge of block B-6. The map function only works in a limited area right now, but that's not the issue here." He sat back against the wall and crossed his arms. "It's showing zero life signs, ours included."

Tamama leaned away from the screen, bracing his hands on the floor behind him and staring at his knees. "So we can't just go looking." He couldn't remember anything between waking up between two boulders and somehow ending up in a cave with Kururu. The blank spot hurt like a scab the more he picked at it, but at the same time, he didn't want to leave it alone.

"Not that it makes much of a difference." Kururu's low voice broke through the private's ruminations. "That damn flea tore the ship to pieces, so restoring life sign detection's probably more trouble than it's worth."

A pit formed inside Tamama that paled his black skin. Kururu turned the laptop back toward him and started typing again.

Tamama's voice came out small. "Can't we send an SOS?"

Kururu chuckled, high notes bouncing off the too-close walls. "The laptop's the one useful thing I found after landing on this shithole masquerading as a planet. But the connectivity hardware's busted, because we can't have nice things." He started a new line of code with a hard tap on the Enter key. "I'm surprised it still works at all, but the tracking system can't be the only thing that went out. Who the hell knows what else got corrupted."

Tamama didn't want to process Kururu's words anymore. The reality that no help was coming—from the Keron Army, random passing ships, or even Momoka—was dark enough. But the thought of the others dying in the crash, the possibility that his sergeant didn't survive—

He couldn't be dead. Not when Tamama's desire to find him was still so strong.

_But what if I'm just in denial?_ Tamama blinked rapidly at the ground; he didn't want to cry in front of Kururu. _How am I supposed to know what's right?_

Then a new question dispersed the mental gloom. "Hey Kururu, where'd you end up when we crashed?"

The typing stopped for a split second. "Kind of a walk to the west of here. But you're not gonna find anything useful, if that's what you were thinking."

"There's gotta be something," Tamama said, and carefully got to his feet. He wasn't struck with dizziness upon standing, though his head still hurt. "I'm gonna go see what I can salvage."

"Don't waste your time," Kururu muttered at the wall after Tamama had already left the cave.


	2. Skip the Sitcom

Tamama wrinkled his nose at the rusty, rained-on, scrap-heap smell outside. The overcast sky was easier to look at than a bright screen in a dim cave, and it eased his headache a little as he walked.

Tan shrubs dotted the rocky landscape. From a distance, their myriad stems gave the impression of leafy life. Curious, Tamama brushed one of them with his fingertips, and the brittle plant crumbled to dust.

Turning pointedly away from that, his eyes landed on something white contrasting with the ground a few yards away. He approached the object and picked it up—a plastic lid the length of his forearm, shallow and rectangular. The Keron Army logo was visible on one side.

Scanning ahead, he saw more things sticking out against the dull wastes. A length of mud-soaked gauze, trimmed at one end and torn at the other, was caught in a dead bush's protruding root system. Not ten paces away was a pill bottle with its cap missing.

Tamama crouched and picked up the bottle in his free hand. "Medicine?" Painkillers, the label read, extra-strength. He peeked inside; empty. That meant the tiny white dots at his feet were the dissolved remains of its contents. Tamama sighed, tossed the bottle over his shoulder, and stood.

A short walk farther rewarded him with an area free of bushes and full of twisted metal. An ejected chair from the platoon's ship laid in the dirt like a fallen monument. Its safety belt was severed clean through the middle, matching the slash in the backrest, and spatters of something darker than the ground's rust stained the front.

"This must be where Kururu said he landed." Tamama sidestepped sharp green pieces of ship hull as he investigated. Then he saw something that made his heart leap, and bounded toward it.

He stumbled to a stop. A first-aid kit, matching the lid he had, was mired face-down in the mud.

Tamama set the lid aside, sank to his knees, and pulled the overturned box free. Nearly everything useful was ruined, except for a roll of gauze that had been tucked at the bottom of the kit.

He picked it up, rubbing at the frayed end with one finger, and stuffed it under his cap.

—

Kururu typed an automatic rhythm, reconstructing the map program from memory. Code advanced line by line in a panel on the left side of the screen, while real-time changes showed in a window to the right. Data loss from the crash left him working with a fragmented program, but all he needed was time to get it running properly again—he'd created it, after all.

But restoring the code for life signal detection wouldn't bring back what wasn't there. For the moment, he focused on finding a specific signal, separate from the ones he monitored on a daily basis.

It couldn't have gotten far, because it had been right in his face when he'd woken up.

Two lines from completion, the map grid filled with blinking red dots. They vanished, and a yellow dot showing Kururu's location winked into existence as he finished.

He fullscreened the right panel and zoomed out to find Tamama's current location a short distance to the north. The private had found his way to Kururu's crash site, and his blinking black dot meandered around the square.

"The hell's he doing?" An arrow flashing in the upper-right corner indicated another signal detected off-screen. He tapped the zoom key again.

After three presses, a third dot appeared on the map. It was large, orange, and approaching Tamama at a rate of fifty yards every three seconds.

Kururu swore under his breath and key-comboed open a comm link. "Get your ass back here. That thing's nine seconds from chewing your tail off."

Unresponsive static, then: "What thing? What're you—"

The enemy signal took another leap, and the black dot froze.

Tamama's incredulous squeal cut through Kururu's headphones. "It can _jump?!_ "

Kururu slapped the ground next to his laptop. "No shit it can jump!" Tamama responded with stammering whimpers. The map couldn't express the difference between him and a flea the size of a Pekoponian house. "Now get outta there, it's not like you can fight it any—"

" _Tamama Impact!_ "

Kururu shifted back from the computer and sighed, massaging the area above the bridge of his glasses with two fingers. He uncrossed his legs for the first time in over an hour, and hunched his shoulders as renewed circulation needled his nerves.

The dust-covered bandage on his lower-right leg nearly matched the cave floor by that point. He eyed it for a moment, then focused on the screen again.

Meanwhile, the little black dot jerked away from the large orange one's constant lunges. Tamama was heading for the cave, but his yelping over the comm link meant the flea was doing its best to make a meal of him. When Tamama managed a small gain on the flea and stopped, Kururu could already hear the next words in his mind.

"Tamama..." The flea's dot closed the short distance, nearly eclipsing his. " _Impact!_ "

The beam's roar filled Kururu's headphones, and Tamama's dot skipped south across the screen. Kururu watched the cave entrance. Two seconds later, Tamama shot through the opening tail-over-teakettle and slammed upside-down against the back wall.

Kururu crossed his legs again, hiding the bandage from view. "So, was your little expedition worth it? Make any bloodthirsty new friends?" He chuckled.

Tamama stared up at his feet with a groan. "Why didn't you tell me the frickin' _space flea_ was still around _before_ I went outside?!"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Kururu smirked as Tamama rolled over and sat up with a huff. "Did that near-death experience jog your memory, by any chance?"

Tamama gave him an incredulous stare. "What?"

"You went flying off a cliff and landed on your head. I watched you bounce." Kururu relished how that made Tamama wince. "So you probably forgot why you did it in the first place."

Tamama furrowed his brow at the ground, rubbing his temple with one hand. "We were on the ship to take the flea someplace where we could kill it. Sarge brought Gunpla with him to kill time, but Giroro threw 'em out the airlock, and—"

"Skip the sitcom. I was there."

"Oh, right. After all that happened, I woke up in my chair somewhere. Then..." Tamama gnawed at his lower lip. "I got up and, uh..." He dropped his head into his hands with a disgusted groan. "I don't know! I can't remember any cliffs or anything! It's all just a big blank."

"Welp." Kururu shrugged, and went back to rewriting code. "So much for trying to get anything useful out of you."

Tamama sat in silence after losing another match to memory loss. Morbidly, he wondered if he really did bounce, or if Kururu was just messing with him again. It explained the headache, at least.

Tamama raised a hand to his head again, and his eyes widened. "Oh yeah!" He slipped the hand under his hat to extract the roll of gauze. "Hey Kururu, look! I found this inside the first-aid kit. It's like the only thing that didn't get ruined."

Typing filled the lull after Tamama finished. Advancing lines of code reflected on Kururu's glasses, his gaze never leaving the screen. Tamama made an exasperated noise and turned away from Kururu to slouch against the rough cave wall.

He pouted at the gauze on its wide plastic spool, flipping it over in his hands. The frayed end caught on his fingers, and he stopped. A torn length of that gauze and an empty medicine bottle had led him to a slashed chair.

"Hey Kururu, what happened?"

Kururu's disinterested murmur floated over fingers tapping keys. "Whaddya mean?"

"When you landed." Tamama scrutinized the sergeant major. "Did something happen? I mean, you didn't just wake up and decide to camp out here, right?"

"That's pretty much how it went, actually."

Tamama shoved himself to his feet and arrived at Kururu's side in three steps. "Then explain _this!_ " He thrust out the spool, holding it a few inches from Kururu's face. Kururu glanced at it, then went back to work.

Tamama's tail fin quivered. He threw the gauze down and said, "Fine then, _be_ that way! But I saw—"

"Shouldn't you be more worried about what made the flea wake up in the first place?"

Tamama postponed his tirade. "Tama?"

"The entire point of carting it to a dead planet was to kill it while it couldn't fight back." Kururu kept a steady cadence on the keys. "So as for why ours did, maybe this place just wasn't dead enough. Maybe some echo of past civilization triggered it, or something. Far from a baseless assumption, with our luck." He triple-tapped a key, then rested his hands on his legs. "Now I have good news, and expected news."

Tamama sat so he was eye level with Kururu, and waited.

"Good news is, our guest decided to leave us alone, for now at least." Kururu turned the laptop toward Tamama. Two dots in the middle, black and yellow, surrounded by thousands of miles of wasteland. The space flea's conspicuously large orange dot was moving away from them at a good clip. "And, as expected, nobody else is showin' up. Unless you think they survived this long at the polar extremes."

"Maybe it's still broken," Tamama said. "You said the data got corrupted."

"Data that I just now rewrote." Kururu faced his laptop towards himself again, and adjusted his glasses. "You can go out and look for the others yourself if you don't believe me. I could use some alone time."

"They're not dead!" Tamama pounded his fists against his legs. " _Sarge isn't dead!_ "

Kururu put a dramatic hand to his chest. "You insult me, sir. I never actually _said_ they were dead. Just implied it."

Tamama screamed and launched himself at Kururu, pinning him against the wall and sending the laptop skidding away. Kururu planted both hands against Tamama's face to shove the private's clawing fingers out of reach.

"You heartless jerk!" Tamama berated his superior officer through the tears in his eyes. "How can you even _joke_ about that?!"

"It's called gallows humor!" Kururu grunted as Tamama forced his elbows back against the wall. "Now settle the hell down, ya little—"

Tamama grabbed one of Kururu's arms to pull it away from his face, and latched onto Kururu's leg with his other hand for leverage. Kururu yelped and extracted himself from Tamama's grip with surprising speed, backing into the wall just a few feet away. Tamama caught himself on his palms, and whipped his head up.

Kururu was clutching the leg Tamama had grabbed. Without looking at Tamama, he muttered between carefully controlled breaths, "That _hurts,_ you idiot."

The laptop screen shone on Kururu like a spotlight, the bandage wrapped around his lower-right leg in full view. When Kururu lifted a hand to examine it, Tamama wished the dark substance staining his palm was dirt.

Tamama stared, his rage dropping into his stomach. Then he hunted frantically for the gauze. "I didn't know you were... I'm sorry!" He sat up and brushed red soil off the exposed fabric. "Here, let me help."

"What's the point?" Kururu's words halted Tamama, who was already halfway across the cave with a few inches of gauze rolled out in his hands. "There's no disinfectant. We don't even have access to clean water."

A droning sound byte from a grainy educational film replayed in Tamama's mind.

"Yeah, we do." He tugged one of his earflaps. "Our hats can filter water and make it drinkable."

Kururu stared, waiting for the punchline. "You're kidding."

"It's true." Tamama rerolled the gauze and set it down. "I mean, it's supposed to be a last resort, but I think right now kinda counts as one. Be right back!" He ran out of the cave and into the dusky wasteland.

Kururu glared at his palm, and rubbed it on the ground.


	3. Whereabouts

Keroro held, at arm's length, the dried husk of an alien rodent between thumb and forefinger. "You call _this_ food?"

Dororo shrugged. "It was stored alongside the water, and appears well-preserved."

The domed metal building was spacious by Keronian standards, enough to make their voices echo if they spoke above a whisper. Clear cylinders standing just above eye level lined the walls, some overturned, most empty. Orbs floating stationary above them cast a warm yellow glow on the two visitors as they stood by one of the few untouched containers.

Keroro made a face as he held a piece of whole rat jerky by the end of its stiff, three-pronged tail. "Well, if there's water, maybe we can boil the grossness outta this roadkill."

"I think I have a better idea." Dororo vanished into the darkness between lights, then reappeared holding a zigzag of metal.

Keroro blinked. "What's that?"

Dororo crouched and placed the object on the floor. "It appears to be made specifically for cooking these rations." He pointed at the straight piece sticking out a few inches above the base.

Keroro tilted his head to one side, but handed the dried rodent to Dororo. "So how do you turn it on?"

Dororo slid the ration onto the spit, fitting it snugly through a pre-made hole in its body, then lowered himself to study the device. "There must be a way to—ah!" He pressed a flat, pressure-sensitive button beneath one of the corners; it chirped after a second. He'd scarcely pulled his hand away when the zigzag started glowing bright orange. Soon, an unfamiliar but pleasant smell wafted off the meat.

"Is it done yet," Keroro asked in monotone, eyes riveted to the food.

Dororo shook his head. "Wait a moment. I only just—"

Keroro's arm zipped out in a green blur and swiped the dead animal off the spit. He hot-potatoed it between his hands, and before Dororo could stop him, Keroro took a bite. He yelped and flung it out of his mouth, caught it in midair, and continued chowing down. He made quick work of the deboned creature, switching between holding the meat in one hand while flapping the other to cool it.

Dororo forgot whatever admonishment he had in mind. He chuckled, his mask hiding his smile better than his voice did. "I'm glad they're still edible. They should help us survive, as long as we conserve..."

His voice died with a little squeak; Keroro was halfway into the open food bin. He returned and dumped an armload of dried rodents in front of the heating element.

"Do all these next!" Keroro's anticipatory drool already reached the floor.

"Commander, we have to use these carefully!" Dororo was on his feet, ready to stop Keroro in case he dove into the meat pile. "We need to save some for the others when we find them. They might not have any food right now."

Keroro's eyes refocused, and he wiped saliva off his chin. "Gero... you're right. Let's get our bearings first." He sat cross-legged on the floor, and handed a rodent to Dororo. "How far do you think Tamama and Kururu are from here?"

Dororo accepted the ration, placing it on the heating element so fast he hardly felt its heat. "It's rather far to walk, but since we'll be traveling light, we can probably make it there in a day."

Keroro sighed. "My feet are already startin' to hurt just thinkin' about it."

A thin line of smoke curled from the meat. Dororo glanced at his commander; Keroro gestured for him to take it, and Dororo returned it with a nod before removing the rodent from the spit by its tail.

Keroro chose another ration, gingerly nudging it onto the glowing metal, while Dororo set his on the floor to cool. "But what gets me is that you can ninja-sense me, Tamama, and Kururu, but not Giroro." He crossed his arms. "That survival nut oughta be thriving in these conditions."

"I would expect the same." Dororo picked up his ration, looking at that instead of Keroro. "Perhaps, if we regroup with Kururu and Tamama, we can better determine Giroro's whereabouts." He removed the cooked meat for Keroro and handed it to him. "After all, I couldn't sense you at first, either."

Keroro uncomfortably swallowed the piece he'd just bitten off whole. "Gero? Then how did you know where to find me?"

"Wasn't that your intention?" Dororo replied. "When you resonated?"

"When I—" Keroro blinked, then stared upward. "Oh yeah..."

"You were too far for me to sense, but your resonance carried just beyond that. I followed it as fast as I could, and found you."

"Not a moment too soon, either. Thought I was a goner for a second there." Keroro put a hand to his chin. "But that means it's actually easier to do _that_ to find everyone!" He hopped to his feet. "C'mon, Doro-mire!"

Dororo furrowed his brow. "Are you sure it will reach far enough to..." Keroro was already at one of the two open entrances to the dome. Dororo sighed and resigned himself to standing at the other.

The night air was cool, laden with moisture from the recent storm. Rusty cloud cover, now sporting small patches of open sky, allowed some starlight to reflect upon the muddy wasteland.

_Gero gero gero gero..._

_Doro doro doro doro..._

No rustling leaves or crickets accompanied their duet, but it projected a life the planet hadn't seen in years.

* * *

"You really didn't know about the hat water filter?" Tamama leaned into the cave entrance at an angle, back from his second trip outside. "I thought everyone went through the same lectures in training. Even that little orange thing you're wearing should work."

"This isn't military-issue," Kururu said, arms crossed and eyes on the laptop screen. "And what makes you think I'd be caught wearing one of those stupid dog-eared things?"

Tamama rolled his eyes. "Anyways, I got us some water."

He ducked away from the entrance for a second, then padded in, carrying the lid from the first-aid kit. Clear water threatened to wobble over its sides with every movement.

Kururu looked up as Tamama moved into the range of the laptop's light, and failed to stifle a snort. "Looks like you stole Giroro's hat."

"Tama?" The private stopped to set the water-laden lid on the ground near Kururu. "What're you talkin' about?"

Kururu snickered behind his hand. Tamama took his earflaps in both hands, pulled them in front of his face, and stared. "Wow, it _does_ look like his now." Filtering muddy water through his yellow cap had darkened it to a familiar shade of burgundy.

"Is that all you could get out of it?" Kururu pointed at the lid. "Your last-ditch filter looks pretty used up to me."

Tamama shook his head, sodden earflaps swaying. "It's okay. Even if it changes color, all the bad stuff it filters out stays in. Look." He squeezed a flap in one hand, and a few clear drops trickled down his arm, absorbing into his skin.

Kururu hummed with moderate interest. "So the meat shield _does_ have another use."

Tamama puffed out his cheeks a little. "Can't you be more grateful? I probably just saved our lives." He turned to leave. "Don't do anything with it yet! I'm gonna grab a couple more things from the crash site."

After Tamama ran off into the night, Kururu moved the laptop closer to the lid to get a chemical reading. A small indicator popped up at the bottom of the screen, then disappeared; nothing harmful was present in the water.

He wondered if the three senior platoon members knew their hats doubled as emergency water filters. Giroro had to know, being a guerrilla survival expert, and top assassin Dororo was on equal footing. Their commander—

Kururu shook his head to dispel the thought. Ongoing repairs to the map program failed to show them, no matter how much he increased the grid's range. Since he and Tamama had landed fairly close to one another, it stood to reason that the others couldn't have ended up much farther out.

The program detected platoon members through their rank insignias. _So they either bought it, or all their insignias are malfunctioning somehow._ Kururu brought his hands to the keys, and stopped. _But how the hell do you crash-land and only break_ that _without killing yourself?_

He placed his hands back in his lap, fingers itching for purpose.

"I'm back!"

Kururu looked up as Tamama trotted in with the bottom part of the first-aid kit in his arms. Objects jostled around inside the container with his steps, and traces of muddy water streaked its sides.

"I went back to double-check it, and I found stuff inside the compartments that was still okay." Tamama set down his load and took out a plastic bottle, already filled with clean water. Next, he produced a handful of individually-wrapped gauze pads. "Then I remembered we had those hidden spaces under our seats."

Kururu guessed what Tamama was talking about before the private held up a foil-wrapped Type G energy bar. It was emblazoned with the Keron Army logo on one side, and a list of three vastly-overcooked ingredients on the other.

"That thing's probably older than both of us," Kururu said.

Tamama turned the energy bar over. It showed no signs of aging from the outside. "Well, it's the only food we got right now."

He dropped it back inside the container, and grabbed a couple of the wrapped gauze pads. After retrieving the bandage roll from the floor, he settled himself next to the water-filled lid by Kururu.

"Okay, first thing's first." Tamama stared down at the supplies in his hands, steeling himself. "We gotta do something about your leg."

"Did you bring a saw?"

Tamama's head snapped up. Kururu snickered and shifted around to offer his bandaged leg to Tamama. "Just sayin', you could skip quite a few steps that way."

Tamama looked down at the dirt-stained bandage. Swallowing back the lump in his throat, he placed the medical supplies in his lap, and reached out with two shaking hands. They stopped just short of the bandage while Tamama chewed at his lower lip.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Kururu grabbed one of Tamama's wrists and pulled until his palm was flat on the bandage. "There. Now can we get this over with?"

Tamama stammered an apology and got to work. The torn-off end was tucked in at the top, so he eased it loose and unraveled, looping the material over one hand. Kururu remained quiet, hands on the ground at his sides. It didn't take long for Tamama to reveal a vertical gash, longer than it was deep.

Then the bandage got stuck. Kururu tensed at the sudden tug, and Tamama's hands froze.

Kururu braced himself. "Just do it."

Tamama inhaled slowly, then coaxed the blood-clotted fibers loose from the wound in small, steady increments. After the last bit came unstuck, the rest of the bandage slid off.

Tamama placed the dirty gauze in a pile to one side and looked at Kururu. The sergeant major's fingers were half-clenched in the dirt.

Tamama remembered the empty bottle of painkillers. "Does it hurt that bad?"

"Nah, this feels awesome. Remind me to set my other leg on fire."

Kururu couldn't hide the edge in his voice. Tamama ripped open a gauze packet, dipped the cloth square in the lid's water, and dabbed the wound. As he cleaned the spot where the old bandage had gotten stuck, blood trickled freely again. Tamama tore the second packet open with his teeth and pressed the new gauze onto the bleeding spot, then rolled a fresh bandage around it. He severed the end of it with a quick martial arts-empowered flick, and tied it off.

"All done!" Tamama sat back, rubbing an arm across his forehead. A newfound confidence in first-aid had replaced his initial anxiety. "If we keep this up, it'll get better in..." There'd been a distinct lack of sass over the past few minutes. "Kururu?"

"You sure you couldn't find a saw?"

Tamama sighed.

—

As hungry as he was, Tamama could endure only a few nibbles of that rock-hard energy bar. Type G rations kept forever, but the process they went through to reach that immortal state murdered its flavor. He was able to drink enough water to satisfy his thirst, at least.

When Tamama offered the Type G, Kururu turned it down, and focused on the laptop instead. It didn't take long for Tamama to notice he wasn't typing.

"Are you already done fixin' everything?" No answer broke the long pause, so Tamama scooted over to see the tracking program displaying the planet's northern hemisphere. "It doesn't look any different."

"Well what do you expect?" Kururu shot back. "Ya think the rest are gonna show up ridin' the flea like a show pony?" Tamama clenched his fists in his lap. "They'll just prance right in, and we'll all hold hands and walk straight to hell."

Tamama's voice cracked. " _Shut up!_ "

"I'm only mocking your insipid fantasy that everything's gonna be fine and dandy." Kururu enunciated his next words with grating deliberation. "Like we're not the unlucky bastards who get to die last."

Buttons thoroughly pressed, Tamama rose to his feet, rigid and trembling. "You can't prove anyone's dead! Sarge is out there, I _know_ he is!"

Kururu swiftly pointed outside. "Then lead the way, amnesiac. Maybe you'll find him at the bottom of another cliff."

Tamama sucked in a noisy breath to retaliate, and ended up holding it for the next several seconds.

Two voices traversed the wasteland, a leader and his childhood friend. They reached across dead earth, over rocky outcroppings, and just within earshot of two surviving comrades.

Tamama and Kururu shared a look. Then the private almost tripped over himself in his haste to reach the cave entrance.

_Tama tama tama tama..._

Kururu stared at the keyboard. Logical denials and explanations scrolled across his mind.

He lifted his gaze to the cave entrance.

_Kuru kuru kuru kuru..._

Twisting syllables joined Tamama's, both rising to combine with the other two in a quartet. They held it for a few seconds, then every participant went silent.

Tamama walked back inside and sat next to Kururu, resonance still ringing in his ears. He drew his knees up close to himself. "Please tell me that was real."

Kururu chuckled. "What do _you_ think it was, a shared hallucination?" He clicked opened one of his headphone covers, and a wire snaked out to plug itself into his computer.

"I heard Sarge. And Dororo too, I think." Tamama hugged his knees to his chest. "I guess Giroro didn't hear us... but it sounded like they were together." He faced Kururu with a spark in his eyes. "Maybe they're not too far from here!"

The wire retracted into the headphones. Kururu snapped the cover back in place, and wiggled his fingers over the keyboard. "Let's find out."


	4. Do You Remember?

Dororo rounded up food and water from the shelter's remaining supplies with Keroro. As it turned out, Keronian resonance was not only calming to the heart, but a viable location method, as well.

"Commander, we won't get far carrying that much." Dororo didn't know where Keroro had found a Japanese-style carrying cloth, but the sergeant had filled it to twice his size with rations, and slung it over his shoulders like a bulbous backpack.

"Huh-gero?!" Keroro sprang back in a double-take, causing several dried rodents to bounce out of the bundle. "Don't we need to bring food for Kururu and Tamama, too?"

"Yes, but we have to take less if we want to reach them sooner." Dororo picked up the fallen rations and dropped them into an open storage container. "We don't know their current situation, so time is of the essence. With any luck, they'll start heading in our direction as well, and we'll meet them on the way."

Keroro set the overstuffed carrying cloth on the floor with a thump and sighed. "I hope so." 

Dororo helped Keroro bring the carrying cloth over to the cylinder, and they set to work lightening their travel load.

After a moment, Keroro snickered. "I just had a funny thought. Tamama and Kururu sounded pretty close together, didn't they?"

Dororo kept his hands moving and nodded. "Right next to each other."

"So I was wondering." Keroro's impish grin reached his eyes. "How're they gettin' along out there, just the two of 'em?"

Dororo paused, then continued thinning out their supplies. "I'm sure they're working together just fine. In a critical situation, they'll—"

"If Tamama doesn't snap from all the teasing and tear him apart, Kururu will probably use him as flea-bait, or something." Keroro shrugged. "I mean, those two aren't real chummy."

Dororo stared at him, and Keroro laughed.

"No use thinkin' of a worst-case scenario, right?" Keroro plopped down on the floor, the carrying cloth now much emptier, and poked the remaining rations into a little pile in the middle. "But even if they are fighting, they probably won't sit still."

"It's a long way in either direction, and I doubt they'll head out tonight." Dororo placed two slim metal cylinders he'd found—water canteens—next to the dried meat. After topping it off with the small heating unit, he knotted the cloth into a neat bundle. "So let's try to rest until—"

The sound of grinding teeth combined with snoring overpowered Dororo's voice. Keroro was slumped against the food container, his face pillowed against the glass.

Dororo carried his exhausted commander over to the wall and sat him against it with gentle movements, under the glow of one of the suspended orbs. He extracted a small square hidden behind the sheath of his ninja sword, and with a simple wrist-flick, unfolded a Keron Army-issue emergency blanket. It could spread to cover a whole battalion, but he only needed it large enough to accommodate two Keronians.

He sat next to Keroro and drew the blanket around them. The temperature inside the shelter was slightly cool, but the blanket was designed to trap heat and moisture. Keroro shifted in his sleep to lean against Dororo's shoulder.

"Keroro, do you remember?" Dororo's voice was quiet enough that it didn't echo inside the dome. "A long time ago, when the three of us went camping? It was supposed to be Giroro's first try at solo survival training, but you begged to go with him until he caved."

He closed his eyes, and Keroro's snoring faded into the background.

"You remembered to invite me, too, because you wanted to use the camping gear Father brought back from Pekopon. I was so happy to go, I didn't even mind when you made me carry it all. I thought it would be fun."

After a long silence, Dororo slipped out from underneath the blanket.

"Giroro was kind enough to tell me," he said while standing, "that _you_ put the space hornet's nest in my sleeping bag."

Keroro murmured random letters and numbers in his sleep; _M S M zero four._ Dororo sighed, then hopped onto the food container next to his commander without a sound. He settled into a meditative position, and closed his eyes.

A stray thought crossed Dororo's mind on the way into his trance. _Giroro, do you remember?_

The image of a young Giroro from the camping trip cut to a too-recent memory of the corporal falling through rusty clouds with him, shouting something over the roaring wind.

* * *

Tamama was convinced Kururu was some kind of headphones-cyborg. The sound file created from Keroro and Dororo's resonance played back on the laptop real as life, like the sergeant major had uploaded it directly from his brain.

The screen also displayed the direction the resonance had come from. When linked to the map program, new tracking details appeared in the form of a blinking double-arrow, indicating a point outside the current zoomed-in range.

Tamama's mouth dropped open, then he smiled so hard it hurt. "It sees them now!"

"Don't celebrate just yet." Kururu zoomed out and changed the map's centering with different key presses, watching the direction of the arrows change to accommodate by small degrees. "It's tracking a sound source, not life signs." Tamama's smile faded. "So one or both of their rank insignias are broken. I can see that happening to Commander, but Dororo... It just doesn't add up."

Tamama tilted his head to one side. "But how do you think Sarge broke his—"

Kururu held up a hand for silence; Tamama clamped his mouth shut. As Kururu started typing furiously, Tamama leaned in, watching the left panel fill with new lines of indecipherable symbols. He couldn't make heads or tails of all that code, but the energy driving Kururu's movements was translation enough.

The map refreshed as changes applied themselves. Tamama held his breath—an error buzz made him flinch.

Kururu glared at the message on-screen. "'Life sign capacity exceeded.' Dammit, I _knew_ that was it."

Tamama read the notice and frowned. "I don't get it. Couldn't you just add everything back no problem before?"

"That's damaged hardware for you." Kururu adjusted his glasses before adding a hash in front of the new code to nullify it, then closed the panel.

Tamama scooted a few feet away and swept dust off the flattest part of the cave floor. "So, what now?"

Kururu rested a hand on the upper part of the laptop. "Now we sleep. Got a lotta ground to cover tomorrow." He closed it, plunging the cave into darkness.

Hope warmed Tamama's insides, and he tried to make himself as comfortable as he could on solid rock. After much shifting, he curled on his side with his arms cushioning his head.

"Gunight," Tamama said, unable to weed the enthusiasm out of his voice. Kururu didn't reply. With their light source extinguished, he couldn't see if Kururu was busy trying to make himself comfortable. He didn't hear anything from him, either.

He had a mental image of Kururu lying right beside him, waiting for him to look over his shoulder and into that sinister grin. _Are you cold, Tama-kins?_

Tamama almost had a coronary when something bonked against the far wall. A string of hissed swearing followed, and Tamama clamped his hands over his mouth. Giggling meant instant death, he was sure of it.

Things were quiet after that, and Tamama drifted off with a smile. His dreams involved a shining green knight rushing to save his true tadpole love from a castle of dark red stone.

—

The castle was melting.

"Sarge!" The cute and lovely Prince Tamama, resplendent in his royal wedding dress, stretched for his hero with both arms. The scenery distorted around them, and Tamama began sinking into a black abyss.

Keroro phased closer and closer, velvet cape blowing in the wind. He finally appeared before Tamama, and reached out. Flailing a puffy-sleeved arm, Tamama grasped the valiant knight's hand. He gazed into his hero's face, beaming.

Keroro had swirly glasses on.

Tamama squeaked awake and stared wide-eyed at the uneven cave ceiling. It took one dark moment to remember where he was, and another to realize why.

Familiar laughter traveled across the small space. "Oh, it was that good, huh?" Kururu was already awake and working at his laptop. "Don't mind me, go on ahead if you need to walk it out."

Tamama's face went crimson as he bolted upright. " _Shut up!_ It wasn't _like_ that!" He turned self-consciously toward the wall. "Don't be gross! Creepy jerk! _Shady specs!_ "

Kururu snickered behind his hand. "I could keep this up all day, but we actually have something more important to do."

It took a moment for the excess blood to drain from Tamama's face. "Oh, right." He sprang to his feet and gathered the items he'd salvaged the previous day. The lid from the first-aid kit was serviceable enough for their meager supplies: the water bottle, the bandage roll, the remaining gauze pads, and the scarcely-touched Type G bar.

Tamama scanned the lid's contents. _I hope Sarge isn't too far. At least water won't be a problem._

He grabbed the bottle and trotted outside to refill it, thinking of the storm that had marked the platoon's arrival. Patches of sunlight splotched the earth, courtesy of the progressing red giant XV-Kas orbited, but the remaining puddles were rather puny. Tamama couldn't find enough for his hat to filter, until he spotted an elbow-deep reservoir hidden under a dead shrub's protruding root system.

Returning to the cave, he found Kururu staring at him, drumming his fingers on the open laptop lid. Tamama held up the filled bottle. "All set."

Kururu closed the laptop and got to his feet, tucking the computer under one arm. "Well, I've got our course more or less plotted. The path isn't based on their life signals, but it'll lead us to where they were resonating." He leaned on the wall with his free arm and tested his weight on his bandaged leg. "So if they're headed in our direction, we should meet 'em halfway."

"Great!" Tamama chirped. He put the water bottle in the lid with the other supplies, and stepped up to the entrance. "Which way do we go first?"

Kururu pushed off the wall, gesturing ahead. "Straight that-a-way."

"Okay, let's go!" Tamama took a few seconds to balance the lid on top of his head, then bounced into the ruined wilderness.

The private followed the path he'd taken while exploring the day before, with Kururu keeping pace a short distance behind. It didn't take them long to reach the crash site, slashed seatbelt and ripped cushions reminding Tamama of the danger still lurking about.

Kururu caught up, laptop held open in both hands. "No sign of our little friend. It's long gone."

Tamama let out his breath. "Straight ahead," he said, stepping past the wreckage.

"Actually, now we go... that way." Kururu pointed in an eleven o' clock position.

"Roger!" Tamama took off.

Morning wore into midday, and the clouds shifted to reveal more of the swollen sun. Aside from the occasional dried-up shrub or oxidized metal beam, the landscape had scant variety. Not enough to justify the constant tweaks and turns in Kururu's navigation, Tamama thought.

He decided to chance a break before Kururu's next rerouting, and veered towards the shade of one of the tall, tilted beams.

"I'm takin' a break, Kururu," he called out, not looking behind him. Once he reached the rusted beam, he let the lid slide off his head and into his arms, then plopped down with a sigh.

Tamama opened the water bottle, took a couple crystal-clear mouthfuls. He stared at it for a minute, then screwed the cap on tight, and put it back in the supply lid.

Dirt-stained clouds shrank in their gradual progress across the sky. Tamama eventually noticed the lack of company. "Kururu?" Looking around revealed no yellow in sight. Tamama stood, balanced the lid on his head, and retraced his steps at a jog.

In the time it had taken to reach his resting point from the last directional change, he found Kururu sitting with his laptop open beside him. The sergeant major didn't even look up when he arrived.

Tamama let out an exasperated groan. "You coulda _told_ me you'd stopped!"

Kururu tapped a finger on the laptop's surface. "I'm tracking you. I can catch up whenever I want."

"But we gotta stay together!" Tamama put the supply lid on the ground and sat to face Kururu at eye level. "What if that flea comes back? Or what if there's somethin' else out here?"

"We'll know well in advance if it's coming," Kururu said. "Better yet, if it wants a piece of us, we won't be able to do jack out here in the open. So if we see it, we're dead."

The way Kururu laughed afterward multiplied Tamama's dread. He swallowed hard. "Well... isn't it better to deal with it when we're not split up?"

"And what's your brilliant strategy for us in this hypothetical situation?" Kururu rested an arm on his bent-up left knee.

Tamama's eyes darted for a solution. "I, uh..." He pointed at Kururu. "You! You've got the acid!"

"Acid?" Kururu's monotone segued to, "Ah, that."

Tamama nodded vigorously. "Yeah! _That!_ "

"Yeah!" Kururu's voice hit a rare enthusiastic note. "I don't have it."

A cloud of dust puffed up as Tamama fell backwards. He sprang to his feet with a high-pitched, "How do you even _lose_ somethin' like that?!"

Kururu shrugged. "Can't lose what I never had to begin with."

"What? Wait, then who did?"

Kururu fixed his gaze on the laptop screen. "Giroro was in charge of all weaponry allocated to this mission."

Tamama stared at him, then sighed at the ground. "Let's just keep going. Once we find Sarge, we can figure something out."

Tamama lifted the supply lid in both arms. He raised a foot, turned, and set it down in one determined step.

He peered over his shoulder. Kururu made no move to get up and follow. Tamama glowered at his superior, then sat next to him again.

Tamama put the supplies down. "Does it hurt?"

"No," Kururu promptly responded.

Tamama narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer. " _Really?_ "

Kururu squared his shoulders and leaned away. Then he slid his bandaged right leg forward. "Fine, just get outta my bubble."

"It's better if you just say so," Tamama said, shifting around to unwrap the dressing. "No point in bein' all cagey about it."

Kururu watched Tamama's hands. "I'd rather we not blow through all our supplies. Commander's resonance was pretty far off, and we're—" His breath hitched as the bandage caught.

"Again?" Tamama muttered, and he carefully got the dressing free from the clotted wound. He grabbed a fresh gauze square and the water bottle, but Kururu held up a hand to stop him.

"Save it for drinking," Kururu said.

Dismay flashed across Tamama's face, and he reluctantly put the water back. "I'll clean it as soon as we find more, then." He held the new gauze in place as he picked up the bandage roll.

"Yes, there's a glorious sparkling lake just over the horizon."

Tamama stopped in mid-bandage to gaze at Kururu, eyes glittering like a desert oasis. " _For real?!_ "

"Why of course... not." Kururu chuckled as hope fled Tamama's face. "You see any water around? You think it's gonna rain again anytime soon?" He paused while Tamama observed the clearing sky. "This is all we got. Better not waste it."

Tamama fixed him with a squinty glare. "Kururu, you're a butt." He tied off the bandage and sat back, dusting off his hands on his thighs. "That's the best I can do for now. Can you walk on it okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." Kururu closed his laptop under his left arm, and stood. He was hesitant to put much weight on his right foot.

Tamama pressed his lips into a thin line, but didn't say anything. He stood as well, balancing the lid on his head. "Which way now?"

Kururu waved a hand ahead of them. "We can keep goin' that way for a good while without straying from the coordinates."

Tamama walked in front, trying to go at a steadier pace than before. "Then what was with all that turning?"

"Distance correction." Kururu followed. "The closer we get to the source, the less recalculating the program has to do."

Tamama hummed at this. "I don't really get it, but okay."

Enough clouds had left to reveal the large sun overhead, its light tinting the sky orange. A pair of shadows slowly lengthened as their owners advanced across the wasteland.


	5. Beyond the Canyon

"How much longer?" Keroro's moaning reverberated up the canyon walls. He and Dororo had left the shelter at the break of dawn, and by noon, they'd long since passed the point where Dororo had caught him.

Dororo responded without breaking his stride. "You asked that ten minutes ago. The answer's still the same."

Keroro shifted the wrapping cloth containing their supplies on his shoulders, grasping the knot in front of his neck in both hands. "Are we there yet?"

"Of course not."

"C'mon, Dororo, at least _try_ to play off my gags better." Keroro glanced at the passing rock walls. "Not that we have a car to turn around, I s'pose." He looked down to make sure he didn't stub his toes on the uneven ground. "So, how much longer now?"

"You just—" Dororo stopped, then spun around to find his companion staring back with a three-pronged tail sticking out of his mouth. "Keroro!"

" _What?_ " Keroro shot back, stiff tail wiggling between his teeth. "It's lunchtime, and I'm hungry! Isn't that what we brought this for?"

"I'd prefer it if you wouldn't sneak food behind my back." Dororo's eyes became stern blue lines, and he held out his hand. "I'll take over carrying the supplies."

Keroro snapped the tail in half with his teeth and grumbled. "Stingy." He worked the cloth over his head and thrust it into Dororo's hand.

"Stingy is fine with me." Dororo shouldered the supplies with light movements. "I'm not sure you should be eating those uncooked, either."

The lance corporal continued on. Keroro followed with exaggerated pouty steps. "They were already cooked when we found 'em. They just taste better warmed up."

"Remember that this isn't just for us." Dororo jumped over a shallow pit filled with rainwater. "We can't assume the others have been as fortunate in finding provisions."

"I know, I know." Keroro hopped across the puddle as well. He noticed the path was wider on the other side, and the cliff walls lower. "Are we finally outta this canyon?"

"Yes. It's not much farther until the end."

Keroro peered past Dororo at the orange daylight brightening ahead. With a burst of newfound energy, he ran ahead of Dororo.

"First!" Keroro jumped out from between the canyon walls and landed firmly on both feet. The dusty sunlit earth was warm in comparison to the shadowy canyon corridor, and the sudden emergence into daylight caused Keroro to shut his eyes.

He opened them and stared.

The land sloped away from him into a shallow vale, with huge, rolling hills stretching over the horizon. A large sun, not yet high in the early afternoon, shone on a dusty red landscape filled with shale-grey trees. They were sufficiently alien, but still gave a plant-like impression, spiry limbs clawing for the sky.

Dororo stepped up beside his commander. "A space flea might have attacked this planet before."

Keroro kept his eyes on the desolation. "Yeah, you mentioned that our flea might've been attracted to what _used_ to be here." He turned to Dororo. "But there's nothin' left, so what's it gonna do?"

Dororo steadied the carrying cloth on his shoulders. "When deprived of its normal food source, a carnivore will seek alternate means of sustenance." He made his way down the hill, Keroro keeping pace beside him. "A space flea steals the life from a planet and its inhabitants, every living thing."

They descended into the forest. Its lack of underbrush and sound made it all the more eerie. Keroro ran a hand over one of the trees as he passed—cold and smoother than stone.

The pair walked for a while, silent as the forest, until Keroro stopped. Dororo paused in mid-step and turned to him. "Commander?"

Keroro's head was down, dirt-stained earflaps framing his face. "If we're the only living things here, then that means..."

"All the more reason to reunite with Kururu and Tamama as soon as possible," Dororo replied.

Keroro jerked his head up. "What about Giroro? We'll find him too, right?"

"Well..." Dororo tightened his grip around the knot in the carrying cloth, but kept his tone even. "I haven't been able to sense his life force. Perhaps once we reach Kururu and Tamama—"

" _Come on!_ " Keroro gesticulated in his frustration. "I've seen more than enough anime to know not bein' able to sense someone's energy means they're—" He cut himself short, then continued in a quieter voice. "I just wish I knew what happened after the flea woke up."

"I do." Dororo's blue eyes scanned the ground. "The last time I saw Giroro was when the space flea tore our ship apart."

"That's the last time _any_ of us saw him."

Dororo shook his head. "It was after we entered the atmosphere. When we were thrown from the ship, only Giroro and I remained conscious." Keroro's eyes widened with each word. "It tried to kill us in freefall, but Giroro stalled it, and ensured your safe landing."

"So that's what happened." Keroro traced his gaze along hairline cracks in the soil as this sank in, then faced Dororo. "But he landed okay too, right?"

"I don't know." Dororo broke away from Keroro's gaze. "After Giroro saved you, I fell into the canyon, and lost sight of him."

Keroro let out a small sigh. "I see... but he must've survived. Wouldn't be the first time he's tried to go out like a badass action hero." He clenched his fists and looked his friend in the eye. "He's waitin' for us."

After a few seconds, Dororo nodded. He gestured for them to continue, and Keroro accompanied him further into the woods. Their lengthening shadows joined the ones cast by the spiked canopy reaching for the sun.

—

The hills wore on with hundreds of trees and no real shade. Not long after cresting the second hill, Dororo felt a tug on the supply cloth.

"Dororooo," Keroro moaned from behind. "I'm gettin' thirsty. Could ya hand me the water?"

Dororo looked over his shoulder. "Can you try holding out a little longer? We still have a lot of ground to—"

"But I'm thirsty _now!_ " Keroro protested at a higher octave, tightening his one-handed hold. "It's hot out here, or didn't you notice?"

Dororo turned to Keroro, who released the cloth, and prepared to deal more of his commander's whining. But Keroro's face had a few more lines in it than usual. What little water they had was precious, but as Keronians, they were stretching their limits.

Dororo lowered the carrying cloth to the ground and knelt to undo the knot. The corners fell open, one canteen rolling to bump against his knee, while Keroro grabbed the other. He sat down, twisted the metal cap off with gusto, and drank in large gulps.

"Commander!"

The sergeant hastily detached his lips from the canteen and held it out of Dororo's reach. "I _know,_ jeez!" He wiped his chin with the back of one grimy hand, cool water mingling with sweat. "What's with this sun, anyway? Isn't it supposed to be a dying star?"

"Yes." Dororo dug the zigzag heating unit out of the rations. "But it won't reach its final stage for another several billion years." He brushed away some of the dust to make a bare patch, and set the heating unit there.

As Dororo reached for the rations, Keroro prodded his hand with the end of the canteen. "Here, you should have some, too." Dororo blinked at him, and Keroro smiled. "Can't have ya tryin' to tough it out anymore than ya need to."

Dororo furrowed his brow. "Er, actually, that one's for—"

"That's an order!" Keroro pushed the canteen into Dororo's palm.

No arguing with that. Dororo took the canteen in both hands, and sat in a kneeling position. "My thanks to you."

Dororo only took a mouthful before replacing the cap, but that was good enough for Keroro. Afterwards, Dororo cooked a couple rations for each of them, before packing up and moving on.

It didn't take long for Dororo to start feeling the sun's effects, and the short grey veil attached to his cap stuck to the back of his head. He had the assassin-trained resilience to withstand a level of heat and dehydration that would leave most Keronians beyond response. But the key was to remain still, and conserve energy through deep meditation. Every movement in the harsh sunlight was a ticking clock hand, and he could almost hear it going faster for the one following behind.

Keroro silently debated the merits of carrying the supplies. They'd block some of the sun, but would weigh him down. He put one foot in front of the other, his soles cooking a little more with each step. He held onto the belief that they weren't wandering aimlessly, though he had no idea where they were going. Dororo's unfaltering trust in their unseen path supported his own.

Time passed as the two crossed hill after hill. The forest thinned out, with a rocky elevation visible in the distance. The sun had moved around the horizon to rest just above those cliffs, and its rays shone directly from the right. Keroro closed one eye to the side-glare and wiped sweat off his chin, a habitual movement over the past several hours.

He wasn't sweating anymore. Keroro's eyes widened at the realization, and with effort, he sped up to Dororo. "Hey, a little water? I'm dryin' up here." When Dororo stopped, Keroro pressed his hands together in a pleading motion. "Just a teensy bit!"

Dororo didn't answer right away, or look back. Keroro's heart fell. "C'mon, are you still mad about earlier? It's not gonna be that much, I swear—"

"It's here!"

Keroro hadn't been able to tell right away with the carrying cloth blocking his view, but Dororo was staring straight at the distant cliffs.

"Gero? What is it?" Keroro squinted against the setting sun, but he couldn't make sense of anything through the glare. He shut his eyes and rubbed them, facing Dororo again. "What's goin' on?"

"It's the flea, and it knows where we are." Dororo leapt into the trees, jumping from limb to limb. "Quickly, this way!"

Keroro squawked and almost tripped over his feet as he scrambled to run after Dororo along the ground. "It _does?!_ But it's all the way over there!"

He didn't get a reply from the blue blur in the trees. Dororo didn't stay far ahead, however, and checked his speed enough to stay in sight ten or eleven trees in front of Keroro.

As the sergeant's blind panic made way for morbid curiosity, he glanced at the cliffs. He was just in time to watch the flea soar over them, block out the sun, and clear several tree-spiked hilltops in a single jump. Keroro screamed and closed the distance between Dororo and himself from eleven trees to three.

"Can't you use your fancy ninja moves or Assassin Magic or something?!" Keroro yelled. The space flea landed twenty feet away, its weight and proximity shaking the earth under Keroro's feet. He stumbled and squealed, windmilling his arms to keep from falling over.

Escape on foot was not possible without leaving his commander behind, Dororo realized, so he alighted atop another tree, and stood facing the oncoming threat. He put his hands together, moving them in swift, fluid symbols. Energy awoke from deep within him, and he channeled it through his arms.

The flea landed from another massive jump and turned to Dororo. A wispy blue aura enveloped him, and the flea's front antennae twitched, its back legs tensing.

The space flea jumped at him bladed forelegs-first, and Dororo thrust his arms out.

" _Freezing Gale of the Polar Extremes!_ "

Subzero air blasted from his open palms and collided with the flea. A thick layer of ice spread from the point of contact to coat its entire body, and the flea's momentum gave out two feet from Dororo's extended arms.

Keroro had stopped to watch, eyes painfully wide. He dared not move as the flea plummeted in a block of ice, shattering several petrified trees.

Dororo exhaled and lowered his arms. "That won't hold it for long." He gripped the carrying cloth around his shoulders. "This way," he said before jumping through the trees.

Keroro sprinted after him like the flea would burst from the ice any second. His fear strained at him to look back, but like a pursuing nightmare, he knew doing that would kill him.

He wasn't sure how long he fled, but Keroro knew if he kept going, his lungs would collapse, explode, or both. His movements hardly resembled running at that point, and his legs ached with each swaying step. Finding a tree to rest against was a challenge when they all bent themselves out of his reach.

He finally found one that stayed still. It was soft and blue.

"Here." Dororo pushed the half-empty canteen into Keroro's outstretched hands. The sergeant accepted it, and fell back against the cool shady side of an actual tree. He managed a few swallows before Dororo took it back, but Keroro was too breathless to protest.

He was still thirsty, but had cooled off and caught his breath somewhat. Dororo sat beside him, and Keroro regarded at his companion through half-lidded eyes.

"Looks like you saved me again." Keroro managed a weary smile.

"As long as we stay out of its sight, we can rest here." Dororo closed his eyes and relaxed his shoulders, letting the tree trunk take some of the weight of the supplies. "But we can't keep running forever."

Keroro crossed his legs and lifted his gaze to the hills ahead. The sun sank low between them, its remaining rays bathing everything in crimson. Every shadow in the stone-silent forest stretched toward the coming night.

After resting a while, Keroro slapped his hands on both knees. "All right! We still got a ways to go, so let's get goin', shall we?"

Dororo watched his commander spring up and stretch the stiffness out of each limb, as if he hadn't nearly collapsed while fleeing for his life half an hour ago. Keroro's energy encouraged him, though, and Dororo got to his feet and continued leading the way. The unseen signals ahead weren't quite as distant as before.

"Hey Dororo, you've been carryin' the supplies for like forever," Keroro called from behind. "Lemme take over for a bit."

"Not a chance."

" _Stingy!_ "

"Stingy is fine with me."


	6. Descent

Tamama stumbled when his next step was several inches lower than the last. He planted his feet to regain his balance, clapping both hands to the lid on his head when it tried to slide off.

He peered around from where he stood at the edge of a large, shallow basin. It was hundreds of feet across, but didn't get much lower toward the center, and was as sun-baked as the rest of the wasteland. The ground had cracked in large sections, edges curving up, accented by the sunset light.

The change in scenery made him scowl.

"You did that on purpose! You knew there really _was_ a lake here, _didn't you!_ " Tamama's voice carried into the distance, then he drooped with a hoarse sigh. "So thirsty..."

He'd been holding off from drinking at every temptation, limiting himself to infrequent sips. Kururu was equally conservative, however, and Tamama could count the times he'd been tapped on the shoulder that day on one hand.

He scuffed a foot on the ground, and turned to retrace his steps. Out of earshot, Kururu waited in the shade of a rocky outcropping not far from the lakebed. He'd sent Tamama to scout ahead, saying he'd make a new addition to the map program in the meantime. Tamama obeyed without argument; it saved him the effort of pointing out how much Kururu had been favoring his right leg.

The telltale typing of Kururu at work greeted Tamama as he approached the outcropping. He rounded the corner into the shade, putting the lid aside before seating himself on the cool ground. "Whatcha doin' now?"

"Just finished the seismic detector," Kururu said. "Doesn't sense too far yet... and it already picked somethin' up."

Tamama hunched his shoulders when Kururu's tone turned sour. He scooted in for a closer look; a new window was open below the map, black with a green horizontal line in the middle.

"How's it look out there?" Kururu kept his eyes on the screen. "Any cover?"

Tamama shook his head. "Nope, it's flat and open as far as I can see. 'Cept for that dip in the ground." He pointed at the map, where the dried-out lakebed was.

Kururu clicked his tongue. "Not much choice, then. Let's head for the basin before it—"

The line spiked, and Tamama squeaked. He swore he felt the ground move beneath him.

Kururu was already pulling himself up by the rough outcropping, laptop closed under one arm. "Get movin', it's comin' in from our right," he said, his diction too swift for safety.

Tamama snatched up the lid and darted out from behind the rock, but jerked to a stop to look back at Kururu. "What about you?"

Kururu flicked a hand at him. "Go on, I'll catch up."

Tamama faced forward again, setting his jaw. Kururu was kidding himself if he'd just implied he could run on that leg.

But time was short, and all Tamama had to do was run. The basin wasn't far, and he had a fresh burst of adrenaline on his side.

Tamama turned back around. He dropped the lid with a decisive clatter, tied the water bottle to his hip with the bandage roll, and crammed the rest of it under his hat.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Kururu kept a hand to the rock as the flea landed again.

Tamama shoved the Type G bar and last unopened gauze pad under his hat. "I'm takin' you with me."

"No you're n—"

Tamama hefted him up piggyback-style. Kururu fumbled his laptop into a more secure position between himself and Tamama as the younger Keronian raced for the lakebed. The private took another quake in stride, while Kururu scrambled to get a hold of Tamama's shoulders.

His voice bounced with Tamama's gait. "I don't believe this."

Tamama grinned; that was worth a few points. He tightened his grip on Kururu as he kicked up a billowing trail of dust. Soon the basin came into view, but so did something else.

The space flea soared over the wastes, attracting Tamama's attention with its landing impact. As it pushed off for another jump, carapace gleaming, a thin, high-pitched noise wormed its way out of Tamama's throat. He pumped his legs faster, Kururu clinging to stay on, but the flea destroyed Tamama's efforts with fifty yard leaps.

Before he knew it, Tamama was well beyond the edge of the lakebed. He slowed to keep from stumbling on the upturned cracks at his feet, then quit moving altogether.

"Hey, I didn't say you could stop." Kururu's voice was sharp in Tamama's ears.

Tamama panted, eyes riveted on the advancing flea. His arms trembled, but not from Kururu's weight. "Wh-where'm I s'posed to go?" His voice came out small. The ground lurched under his feet, and Tamama hunkered down.

Kururu prodded the back of Tamama's head hard enough to make him jump. "Further into the middle."

Tamama almost overbalanced in his haste, gaining a few yards before the next jolt set them on their rears. The space flea perched on the edge of the basin in the near distance; Tamama couldn't pull his eyes away from giant jumping death.

Kururu dug his finger in. "Keep moving or get skewered!"

Tamama shook his head to dislodge the digit as he grabbed Kururu, gathered his legs beneath himself, and sprang forward. Cracked soil flew under his feet, and the space flea's shadow spread across the ground to meet them.

"Stop!"

Tamama scrambled to end his momentum. "What? _Why?!_ "

The space flea blocked out the sun. Kururu crossed his arms on Tamama's head and rested his chin there, watching the incoming galactic parasite like a shooting star. "Perfect."

The space flea landed, long piercing mouthparts inches from impaling Tamama's face, and its huge body punched straight through the ground.

Tamama had the unintentional foresight to take a deep breath at that crucial moment, giving him plenty of time to scream. He lost his grip on Kururu as hardened soil fragments showered down with them. The flea tumbled ahead into a black abyss, wind whistling through its razor-sharp guard hairs. A suspiciously jovial _kuuu-kukuku_ from somewhere off to Tamama's left told him the sergeant major hadn't drifted far.

Something wooshed past Tamama's head—he'd fallen past a metal rail. Another rail was rushing up fast, attached to a walkway spanning the inner circumference of the chasm wall.

Tamama spun in midair and found Kururu falling several feet across from him. He flailed closer with all four limbs, and strained an arm out. "Kururu!" His shout echoed up the pit.

Kururu held his laptop to his chest as he stretched his free arm towards Tamama, fingers spread. The second guard rail flew past, and Tamama grabbed Kururu's wrist.

Tamama opened his mouth and aimed down. " _Tamama Impact!_ "

A bright yellow beam flashed out and propelled them toward the guard rail. They rose quickly, then steadily, then the beam started to thin. Tamama shut his eyes and quivered with effort, but their speed kept decreasing.

 _Almost there..._ His equilibrium shifted as the beam petered out.

Kururu jerked on Tamama's arm. "Come on!"

"I can't..." Tamama's grip on Kururu, and his consciousness, went slack.

Kururu slipped his wrist out of Tamama's limp fingers, grabbed his tail, and yanked. The private roared out a beam twice as strong as the last, clanging into the railing torso-first. He flipped onto the walkway, and Kururu catapulted over him, bouncing to an eventual stop by the wall.

—

He hadn't heard the flea make a satisfying _crunch_ far below, Kururu realized. Maybe he'd been lying on the floor longer than he thought.

Kururu pushed himself up with one hand, and straightened his glasses with the other. Tamama was twitching on his side next to the dented rail, white-eyed and unresponsive, but the laptop was nowhere in sight.

According to the ever-useful locator Kururu had built into his headphones, the laptop had somehow ended up thirty feet away. The walkway was hundreds of feet below the orange-red rays slanting into the hole, and the chasm had no other light sources.

He hauled himself to his feet and limped into the gloom. His supporting hand slid across flat metal, but passed over hard patches of earth now and again. It gave the impression of a work forever in progress.

"Just walk it off, right Giroro?" The locator beeped faster. "You better be twice as mangled as the rest of us."

His left foot brushed something, and the beeping stopped. Kururu stooped down carefully, groping floor-ward, until his fingers met the scuffed exterior of his laptop. He gathered it up and sat against the wall with a huff; no need to drag himself back to Tamama yet.

The laptop felt like it was still in one piece, with no additional damage from the landing. Kururu set it on the floor and opened it, the screen instantly providing light.

He relaxed his back and shoulders against the cool metal wall as the computer came out of sleep mode. The terrain map reloaded with an error—it was useless inside the chasm.

Kururu leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. If the planet's former inhabitants had built underground to the point of thinning the soil above, there had to be elevators somewhere. Because he didn't relish the prospect of climbing a ladder down a bottomless pit in total darkness.

But he'd find a map of the place and avoid that nonsense, he told himself.

—

Pale starlight adorned the hole in the ceiling. Kururu still hadn't returned. Tamama tried to roll onto his uninjured side, causing a motivation-sucking wave of agony in his ribs.

He croaked out a groan; his throat was paper. He lurched into a sitting position and fumbled with the gauze around his torso until the water came loose. The bandaging material fell across his lap and tail as he gripped the plastic bottle in both hands and stared.

Tamama lasted two seconds before spinning the cap off so hard it bounced across the floor. Ready to empty it all in one go, the thought of Kururu's tissue paper corpse forever rustling in his ears gave him enough willpower to pull away with a fourth of the water remaining.

Next, he snatched the Type G bar out from under his hat. Tamama hated how his stomach growled at the burnt-socks smell coming through the wrapper. He peeled it off and crammed the bar into his mouth, gnawing on it with his back teeth for a full minute. A piece broke off, and he spent another minute trying to chew it before swallowing it whole. Thankfully, he didn't have enough saliva to taste it.

Tamama sat for a moment, then stared at the half-ration and mostly-empty water bottle as though seeing them for the first time. He cast about for the cap, closed up the bottle, and put the Type G back in its wrapper.

His mind cleared as he rolled the loose gauze back around the roll. Kururu had left for some reason, and Tamama figured he'd appreciate some food and water as well, especially after not eating all day. He slid the Type G and the bandage roll back under his hat, picked up the water bottle, and stood.

He inched forward at first, afraid to incite that shooting pain from before, but it didn't advance past a breath-restricting ache. Nothing shifted around inside his chest, which meant nothing was broken.

 _Can't get anywhere fast like this._ Tamama padded one foot in front of the other. _But neither can Kururu._

It didn't take long for darkness to swallow him up. Before he could dwell on that, his eyelids twitched at a soft light ahead.

Minutes later, Tamama discovered he'd been following the sleep mode screen of Kururu's laptop. Its owner sat against the wall, one hand resting on his stomach, rising and falling with steady breaths. Tamama sat next to the laptop in careful increments, and put the water bottle aside. The screen's pale glow couldn't illuminate more than a silhouette from Kururu's torso emblem upward.

Tamama scooted closer to Kururu and poked his shoulder. "Kururu." He couldn't put much force into his voice. "C'mon, wake up." He nudged harder. Kururu's arm came up in a half-conscious attempt to swat him away, and Tamama sat back.

Kururu grumbled, reaching up to rub underneath his glasses. He noticed Tamama after several seconds, and lowered his head into one hand.

Tamama frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I was having the most wonderful dream," Kururu murmured. "Where you _died._ "

His signature laughter followed. Tamama's fingers contorted themselves into strangling motions.

Kururu sat up straighter, his grin visible. "This oughta be good."

Tamama clenched his fists until the knuckles stood out. "You _jerk!_ " he shouted. "You _made_ us fall down he—"

He fell on his uninjured side, curling around his bruised ribs. Not even righteous anger could keep the pain from catching up.

Kururu watched Tamama whimper and twitch on the floor. "What'd you do to yourself this time?"

Tamama stifled a sob in response. Kururu grabbed his laptop, then stopped; the screen wasn't bright enough to examine Tamama with. He sat back against the wall and positioned his hands over the keys to seek out a better light source.

But this time, the metal behind him gave. Even Tamama quieted at the staccato scrape.

Kururu turned to search the metal with his hands. He found a thin gap off to one side, which continued further up than he could reach, and ended where it touched the walkway. He'd been sleeping against a door.

He used the wall to stand, and groped around until he felt an oval indentation level with his forehead and twice the size of his hand. He curled his fingers into it and pulled; the rusted metal shrieked as it slid partway into the wall. The resulting gap was wide enough to look into with one eye, but it was pitch-black on the other side.

Then a bright light glinted off the single swirly lens peeking into the room. Kururu ducked away and blinked to rid himself of the spot in his vision, then shoved on the door with both hands until the opening was wide enough to walk through.

It wasn't much larger than one of the Hinatas' bedrooms. An orb hung, free of wires and suspension, at the center-top of the wall opposite the door, bathing everything in a soft bluish-white glow. Boxy contraptions, many with screens and most lacking external controls, were crammed into every available space by the walls, leaving a narrow path between.

He limped toward what looked like a jet-black arcade cabinet with a single button. But instead of pushing it, he ran his hands over the front. His fingers located telltale edges, and he pressed the compartment door to spring it free. It swung open to reveal a dozen ports with tiny markings above them, written in a deprecated form of universal block lettering. Kururu recognized the writing immediately.

He slammed it shut and hissed a curse through his teeth. An astrological fortune-telling machine was useless to him.

When Kururu rose to his feet, his vision got hazy. He leaned his forearm on the machine, watching the floor go in and out of focus. The water bottle came to mind, but he knew it wouldn't be enough.

Once his sight decided to stop tunneling, he pushed away from the fortune-teller. If the chasm was a storage facility, then there had to be food and water somewhere.

Next he examined a solid metal cube standing at eye level, with controls on top like a Pekoponian washing machine. In place of load size and cycle options were twisted symbols. Ports freckled the controls, and Kururu opened both sides of his headphones to connect wires to the leftmost two.

A faint pop and crackle sounded as each wire plugged in, followed by a low electric hum. The machine still worked. He retracted the wires, closed up his headphones, and turned around.

The room shook. Kururu pitched forward and hit the floor hard with both hands, bulky machinery jostling around him. A smaller quake followed, then another, then nothing but dirt clattering down the sides of the chasm.

Kururu had worked out what it was by the time Tamama staggered through the doorway with his eyes bulging.

"The flea, it just—" Tamama pointed out the door with the water bottle in one shaky hand.

Kururu pushed himself back to sit against the cube. "Yeah, I got that. It won't be comin' back here anytime soon." He pointed at the laptop in Tamama's other hand. "Y'gonna gimme that, or what?"

Tamama swallowed and stepped into the room, moving his left side stiffly. He blinked in the light while looking back and forth to take everything in. "What's this room s'posed to be?"

"Storage. Or a junk depository." Kururu reached out to accept the laptop once Tamama was close enough.

Tamama offered the water bottle as well. "Here. You can have the rest."

Kururu's eyes were more riveted to the clear liquid in the dirt-smeared plastic than he would ever dare to admit.

"Not right now." He opened the laptop and placed it on the floor. One headphone wire went into his computer; he drew out another and stood.

Tamama watched Kururu lean on his left leg as he reached across the cube's surface to its ports. "But you hardly drank anything today. And I haven't seen you eat this whole time."

Kururu finished making connections and sat on the floor with a huff. Three pressed laptop keys opened a program to analyze the cube's contents. Then a familiar crinkling cut through his headphones, and he looked up.

Tamama had taken the Type G bar out from under his hat. Kururu's spine blocked his stomach's panicked egress. _Why didn't that damn thing fall down the hole?_

"We only got half left, but..." Tamama held out the remnant. "It should be okay, if you start from the other side."

"Don't want it." Kururu focused on the laptop and typed in commands.

Tamama pouted. "I know it's nasty, but you gotta eat somethin'."

"What part of 'I don't want it' don't you get?" Kururu kept his eyes down as the screen filled with details. The machine contained in-depth information about the chasm: blueprints, supply lists, order receipts for laser-drills, even a concept drawing of the structure. They'd at least planned to have the walkways lit.

He scanned the layout floor by floor, and untensed his shoulders when he saw a food storage area. Waiting for Keroro and Dororo to find them in the chasm meant he didn't have to walk under that damnable sun.

Kururu looked up to ask Tamama with calculated indifference for the water, only to find the private's face an inch away. He pressed his back against the cube. "The hell's your problem?"

Tamama's pain and fatigue dragged at his usually bright-eyed expression. Neither killed his determined little grin. He held up the gauze roll and unraveled a few inches.

Kururu was cornered. "You little bastard."

"We can't just leave it," Tamama said. "Besides, it's lookin' kinda..." He gestured at the dirt-caked bandage.

Kururu drew his leg in. "Oh no ya don't." That failed to discourage Tamama, who reached for it with both hands. Kururu grabbed his wrists and shoved him away. "Back off, grabby-hands. I can do it myself."

Tamama winced and scooted back to give him space. Kururu unwound the bandage to expose the gauze pad on the back of his leg, and paused. The reddened skin peeking out from under the dressing definitely wasn't dust. He nudged his fingertips under one edge, finding it hot to the touch.

 _Oh, hell._ He started to peel it away—instant searing pain made him stop. The gauze pad was glued in place by something he didn't want to think about.

"What's wrong? Lemme see." Tamama pulled himself closer, but Kururu batted him away with one hand. The private backed off with a grumble.

Kururu held out a hand. "Just gimme that, would ya?"

Tamama picked up the gauze roll. "Shouldn't you take that off first?"

"Not such a good idea."

"Uh... okay." Tamama gave him the roll, and Kururu bandaged himself in silence.


	7. Unlucky Bastards

The last orange streaks vanished below the wasteland as Keroro and Dororo descended the final hill, leaving the stone forest behind. Flat terrain came as a relief to both, their legs worn from uphill travel and escape.

Keroro stumbled closer to Dororo and tugged the back of the carrying cloth. "Can we stop now? It's gettin' dark, and my feet are _dead._ "

Dororo kept walking, and Keroro's arm fell loosely away. "There's no cover ahead. It's still light enough for the flea to..."

He stopped and peered at something in the middle distance. Keroro stepped up beside him, and followed Dororo's gaze to a bent metal beam jutting out of the ground at an angle.

Keroro squinted. "Whaddya suppose that is?"

"A remnant. Once part of a great city, perhaps." Dororo started walking again. "We can take a short break there."

Keroro kept his eyes on the exposed beam as they approached. He imagined it straight, sturdy, and free of rust. Hid it in solid walls, a foundation, and a roof. Fuyuki read Paranormal Monthly in the living room, while Natsumi played the latest game console.

"Commander?"

Keroro blinked. The rusted beam loomed before him, and Dororo had taken out the emergency blanket. Keroro took the half offered to him, helping to expand it before they tossed it over the beam.

Keroro plopped down under the makeshift tent with a sigh, and rubbed his feet. "Are we gettin' close to 'em yet?"

"Yes. We should reach them by tonight." Dororo set the carrying cloth in front of him and untied it. He took out the heating element and the partly empty canteen first.

Keroro grabbed the canteen in both hands, fingers ready on the cap. Then he noticed the second, unused canteen, resting next to their dwindling food pile.

He pointed at it. "Aren't you gonna have some too?"

Dororo reached for a dried rodent. "That one's for Kururu and Tamama."

"You mean we're _sharing_ this one?" Keroro shook the first canteen.

Dororo slid the rodent onto the heating unit. "No. That's yours." 

The canteen met the ground with a gritty thud. "Lance Corporal Dororo, are you trying to kill yourself?!"

Dororo looked up. "Don't worry. I can last a while longer on my energy reserves without water."

"Y'mean the reserves you're using up with—" Keroro's train of thought jumped the tracks. "That other one's for Giroro too, right?"

Dororo fixed his gaze on the heating unit. He didn't make any move to start it.

"We'll have enough food for him too, right?" Keroro scooched closer to Dororo on his knees.

Dororo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It would be impractical to spread our rations any thinner."

Keroro slapped the dirt. "You're _abandoning_ him? Is that what you're saying?" He grabbed Dororo's shoulders, leaning over the heating unit. "You just don't know where he is. That doesn't hafta mean he's dead!"

"I am _trying,_ " Dororo said, shoulders stiff, "not to lose anyone else!"

Keroro slipped away from Dororo as the ground shook. Dororo stuck his head out of the tent, and Keroro followed suit in time to see the space flea rocketing out of the ground a hundred feet away. It soared over a wide depression with a flea-sized hole in the middle.

Dororo took the dried meat off the heating unit, and tied everything back into the carrying cloth with blurry movements. "Run for the basin!"

"Towards _that?!_ " Keroro quit yanking at the stubborn emergency blanket to point at the descending flea.

Dororo touched the blanket to shrink it back to a tiny square, and stowed it behind his sword. "We'll escape underground. Tamama and Kururu are somewhere in that hole."

He shouldered the carrying cloth and took off; Keroro raced after him. The hole came into clearer view as they neared the basin.

The flea landed on the edge of the depression less than ten feet away, briefly forcing both Keronians into the air. Keroro shrieked and latched onto the carrying cloth behind Dororo. The flea stabbed its mouthparts toward them, and Dororo whipped an arm forward to deflect it with his sword. Chitin met blade, and struck the weapon out of his hand.

Keroro's breath shuddered to a stop as he watched those piercing tubes slide through Dororo's neck.

Then the flea lifted its head, and Keroro felt air under his feet. His torso was pincered between the flea's mouthparts. As he rose, he saw one of them was stuck through the carrying cloth just above Dororo's shoulder, leaving his friend untouched.

Dororo planted his feet and wrenched back against the flea, while Keroro grasped the cloth in both fists. The cloth slipped off Dororo's head, and he barely managed to catch hold of it in time.

"Dororo!" Keroro's tears spotted the fabric as he hung upside-down, arms stretched taut. " _Help me!_ "

Dororo's left arm trembled as he strained the other one upward. Keroro reached for him, and the cloth ripped in two.

The flea bowled over backwards, flinging Keroro and the supplies into a high arc. One of the flea's long hind legs caught Dororo in the stomach as it fell, and sent him flying over the basin.

Dororo bounced and rolled along the cracked ground until the momentum left him on his back. Keroro's fading screams rang in his ears as the force of his landing vibrated through his skeleton.

He sat up at a low rumble, and felt more than saw the flea thrashing to right itself. His left arm ached down to the fingertips. The ripped ends of the carrying cloth were twisted around his hand, binding him to the heating unit.

Starlight glinted off Dororo's blade, stuck at the edge of the hole; he'd landed just short of it. He shook off the tingling in the back of his head, untangled the cloth and heating unit from his arm, and retrieved his sword. Then he secured the heating unit to his back with the cloth's remains.

He dropped partway into the hole, gripping the edge and peering over it. The flea was on its feet at the edge of the basin—watching, but going no further. Dororo had a perfect view of the thin soil from inside the hole. No wonder the flea wouldn't pursue him.

Two life signals pulsed below. He released the edge and vanished into the abyss.

* * *

There was a room with food and water on the bottom floor of the chasm, according to the layout. No ladders led down there, to Kururu's secret relief, but neither did any elevators.

A teleporter two rooms ahead did, however, and Kururu had the long-unused equipment primed in minutes. He input a time delay before stepping onto a square mat next to Tamama, and the lining around the edges glittered to life. Countless tiny lights stretched up and overtook their vision, then returned to darkness.

Detecting visitors, a row of orbs placed midway up the wall in front of them lit one by one. They revealed clear cylinders lining two walls, some containing weird pink objects.

A mummified cat-alien slumped over an open one straight ahead, toothless mouth wide open, making eyesocket-to-eye contact with Tamama. He squealed and dropped the water bottle to cover his eyes.

"Looks like we found the unlucky bastard who got to die last," Kururu said.

Tamama forced his trembling hands lower, and looked off to the side to avoid even a corner-glimpse. Kururu took unsteady steps off the telepad toward a corpse-free container, Tamama following close behind.

"W-we can't still use this stuff, can we?" Tamama watched Kururu open the laptop on the floor, then reach up to pop the lid off the cylinder. It was two-thirds full of a small shriveled animal that didn't look like food.

Kururu took one of them by its three-pronged tail, and held it before the laptop. A green OK appeared on-screen a second later. "Says it's edible. Rejoice." Tamama pulled a disgusted grimace as Kururu tossed the dead animal back into the container. "Let's see if there's any water left in here," he said, and pulled himself up to check the left side of the room.

Tamama turned to investigate the right side. He found more food containers in varying states of emptiness, then something smaller caught his eye. It sat in a corner, its sleek metal exterior bringing Pekoponian thermoses to mind. He picked it up and tilted it from side to side; liquid splashed against the inside of the cap.

He stole it from the corner and braced himself with it as he sat. The cap swiveled off under impatient fingers, and the clear water inside reflected the orb above Tamama.

Replacing the cap, he said, "Kururu, I found water!" His quiet voice wasn't going to reach Kururu from across the room, so he grabbed the canteen and walked to the other side as briskly as he dared. "Look, I got some..."

Tamama trailed off as he reached the wall's opposite corner. Kururu was already sitting there drinking from an identical canteen, with none of the restraint he'd shown throughout the day.

Back turned to Tamama, Kururu didn't notice his approach. He set the canteen down with a sigh, and wiped a forearm across his chin.

Tamama fidgeted, fingers squeezing the canteen he'd found. "Uh, shouldn't we try to save some?"

Kururu glanced over his shoulder, saw Tamama, and scoffed. "Save it for what?" He rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead.

Tamama rolled his eyes. "Quit bein' a butt, Kururu. Sarge and Dororo are gonna come down here and find us, right?" He sat on the floor, canteen held upright in front of him. "So we just hafta hang on a little longer."

Eyes to the wall, Kururu made no move to close up his canteen.

"And we got real food now." Tamama twisted off his canteen's cap. "So I really think you should eat something."

Kururu snatched up his canteen again. " _You_ can eat the dead rats. I'm fine."

"Y'don't _look_ fine," Tamama muttered. He attached the canteen's opening to his lips and chugged like that life-giving liquid couldn't get into him fast enough. He broke away a few seconds later, choking for air, and doubled over from the resulting agony.

Kururu's laugh made a tinny echo in the rim of his canteen. "Knew you couldn't hold back." He put it down, and worked his way to his feet using the wall beside him. "After all, you're only a..."

Still wincing from the muscle spasms in his chest, Tamama managed to look up when Kururu failed to finish a mean comment. The sergeant major was leaning heavily against the wall, trying to stay upright, fingers slipping on the metal.

"Kururu?" Tamama grit his teeth and forced himself off the floor.

Kururu didn't answer. The rushing in his ears drowned out Tamama's voice. He stopped feeling the wall at some point.

It wasn't until the wall lights realigned with themselves that Kururu remembered where he was. He didn't know how long he'd been lying on the floor, however.

"Are you okay?" Tamama's worried face popped in from above, blocking some of the light.

"What kinda dumbass question is that," Kururu deadpanned. "I'm great. I'm _fantastic._ " He rolled onto his side and pushed himself up. His vision went fuzzy again, but he persisted, groping for the wall with one hand.

Tamama raised a hand halfway, then lowered it. "Was the water too old? Was something bad in it?"

"No, it's fine." Kururu managed to get his back against the wall. He resisted the urge to shrink away from the cold metal. "Couldn't be safer."

Some of the tension left Tamama's frame, and he looked away to scan the room. "I don't think we should stay here. Let's take some food and..." He trailed off, staring at something in a far corner.

Kururu watched as Tamama got up and walked off, blending into the shadows where the orb light couldn't reach. Then a new light glowed from an alcove.

Tamama returned to Kururu. "I found some beds. They don't even look used."

"Nice of Corpse Bro not to die in 'em." Kururu started dragging himself to his feet, but Tamama closed in to slide an arm under his. Kururu tried to back out of the unwanted assistance, but it was already too late.

Tamama's eyes widened. "Ew, when'd you get all hot and sweaty?!"

"We took the same trip through Hellscape starring Death Sun, y'know."

"But we've been underground for like an hour!" Tamama had more to say, but the light trembling he felt from Kururu shut him up. He sighed. "Forget it."

Tamama had meant to support Kururu. But the pair leaned against each other instead as they hobbled across the floor to the alcove.

Two pairs of pipe-framed bunk beds dominated the small space, leaving only a narrow path between them. The mattresses were designed for aliens a head taller than most Keronians.

The moment one of the beds came within reach, Kururu brushed off Tamama's support. He pulled himself onto the bare mattress and collapsed face-down on the soft white material.

"I'll go get the water," Tamama said, leaving the alcove.

Kururu shifted onto his side, and inched closer to the middle. He groped blindly above him with one arm; no blankets or pillows. But the mattress itself was comfortable enough.

Tamama came back with both canteens under his right arm, and the mostly-empty water bottle in his left hand. He set all three in the space between the beds, and checked on Kururu. His side rose and fell in slow breaths, already asleep.

After several false starts, Tamama climbed into the bottom bunk opposite Kururu's, and eased onto his back. It was nothing compared to his huge bed back in Momoka's mansion, covered in cloud-soft pillows and a sea of candy, but it was heaven after sleeping on rocks.

—

Tamama awoke to the dryness coating the back of his throat. He swallowed, glanced at the canteens nestled between the bunks, then stared at the metal slats holding up the mattress above him. He hated how he was getting used to being thirsty.

He pushed himself up to look at the bunk across from his. Kururu was curled up facing the wall, silent. Tamama gnawed at the inside of his cheek, then stepped across the gap between the beds. Kururu was streaked with sweat, and didn't respond to Tamama's weight sinking in nearby.

"Kururu?" Tamama reached out, inches from touching. "Can you hear me?"

Kururu mumbled something, but didn't stir. Tamama put a hand on Kururu's arm, and drew back immediately from the heat.

He slipped to the floor, eyes darting for something. He had water, but nothing to use it with.

Something itched at his scalp. Frustrated, he shoved his hands under his hat and threw the offending objects to the floor—Type G remnants, bandage roll, the last gauze pad.

He blinked, irritation fading, and crouched to pick up the third item.

Tamama returned to Kururu's side with the dampened gauze, and reached for his shoulder. He'd barely touched the skin when Kururu came to with a startled hiss of breath, twisting around to grab Tamama by an earflap. Tamama yelped and caught himself on the mattress, jerked down at an angle.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, until Kururu's hand unclenched itself, and fell limp. His other hand went to his face as he sighed. "Don't do that."

Tamama bolted upright, heart pounding, and picked up the gauze from where he'd squished it into the mattress. "I just wanna help," he said, offering it to Kururu.

Kururu reached for it, paused, then turned away. "What's the point."

"Sarge and the others must be lookin' for us." Tamama crossed his legs and kept his eyes on his lap. "So we gotta survive, right?"

"And how do you propose they find us?"

"Well... they can..." Tamama squeezed the damp gauze as he clenched his fists. "Sarge won't give up! I know he's gonna come down here and save us."

"Oh, great." Kururu slowly slid his hands down his face. "We're stuck at the bottom of a post-apocalyptic hole, and it's making you even _more_ insufferable."

Tamama didn't look at him, face heating up. His hope and excitement from the other night was starting to make him feel like a childish nitwit.

Kururu stared at the bunk above. "Breathable air and no life. Why did that not tip me off?"

Tamama looked up. "Huh?"

"Real convenient location, too." Kururu kept going as if Tamama hadn't spoken. "Obviously _something_ wasn't right, but I didn't check into it."

Tamama didn't like the implications of this one-sided discussion. "Y'mean like, the flea got this world first, then came to Pekopon? And we brought it back here, so it woke up, and—"

"That's not what I'm talkin' about. It doesn't go for seconds."

Tamama knit his brow. "Then why?"

Kururu laughed without humor. "If I'd had the... taken the time to, anyway, I'd know." He turned his back on Tamama and curled up again. "Could've avoided all this," he muttered into the mattress. "Too late now."

The alcove was too small for that much reality. Tamama removed himself from it without another word.

His eyes met the alien corpse's empty sockets, turning his stomach-knots to ice. If he ran into that gaze every time he left, his sanity would expire before he did.

Tamama approached the body, forever reaching one-armed into the empty container, and removed it with both hands. Weightless and brittle, its fluids had long since drained off and dried somewhere. A curve indented its torso where the cylinder's rim had pressed into it. The rags it wore kept Tamama from touching its dried flesh, but he shuddered at the skeletal contours felt through the threadbare cloth.

With the ragdoll mummy all but spilling from his arms, Tamama realized he didn't know a non-telepad way out of the room. That's when he spotted a wider-than-usual space between two containers, where a sliding door was. It opened smoothly, not quite as rust-obstructed as the doors further up.

The orb light inside the room only reached as far as the walkway's railing, leaving everything beyond it a black void. Tamama approached the rail, dumped the alien corpse below it, and shoved it off the edge with his foot.

The body made a splashing noise a few seconds later.

Tamama's mouth hung open in a long gasp. "Water!" He leaned against the railing and stared hard into the depths. His eyes adjusted enough to make out ripples reflecting starlight, and he wagged his tail. Then he considered what he'd just thrown in.

The pool's dark surface showed that one corpse didn't matter. It was full of them.

Tamama scrambled back into the room as if pursued.


	8. I'm Right Here

Keroro opened his eyes. It was dark, silent, and something dirty blocked his mouth when he breathed.

He flailed, envisioning worms lining up to crawl through his skull—a thin sheet of soiled plastic flew off him at the first kick. He watched it float above him for a second, dark green and torn at a ragged angle, until it came to rest on his body.

Keroro pushed it away and sat up in a cramped enclosure made of scrap metal and tarp. Recent memories crept in, as did an ache in his sides. He rubbed them, finding horizontal bruises just above his hips.

An orange glow flickered at the edges of a piece of tarp hanging over one side of the squat shelter. Keroro pulled it aside to reveal a small campfire on flat, open ground, flames licking towards a starry sky.

Giroro sat beside it and stirred the coals with a bent metal wire.

Keroro burst from the shelter in a tangle of unbridled joy. He tripped over his feet, faceplanted, and sprang up again, moving forward the whole time. " _Giroro!_ " His voice was hoarse, but he couldn't tell if it was from thirst or happiness.

He staggered and fell to his knees a couple feet from Giroro. The corporal had a bandage over his unscarred eye, and a few more around his arms and under his belt. But they didn't hamper him as he dug a dried rodent out of the cinders with the wire. The uneaten rations Dororo used to have were lined up on a ripped portion of the carrying cloth next to both canteens.

Keroro edged closer on his knees. "I _knew_ you were alive! I never stopped believin' for a second."

Giroro bit into the meat, his fangs standing out against the dull pink exterior. He chewed, grunting a little. "Not bad for alien rations."

Keroro grinned and shrugged. "Yeah, they're pretty okay. But some ketchup would really—"

"Good thing all this came along just as I was on the last of the water." Giroro finished the ration with another large bite. "And not a day after the Type G ran out. Don't know if I'd call it luck, though."

"Darn right you're lucky!" Keroro huffed. "If I hadn't shown up, you'd probably be done for." Giroro tucked another ration into the flames, and took a sip from one of the canteens. "Anywho, we better go back and find Dororo. He must've met up with Tamama and Kururu by now."

"This should hold me over until the flea decides to show up," Giroro said, poking the fire again. Keroro frowned and tilted his head. "It has to feed at some point, and it'll come straight to me." Giroro's face darkened in the firelight as he revealed a hunter's grin. "And my acid round."

Keroro opened his mouth, then closed it again. Giroro was terrible at pranks, but the sergeant couldn't deduce any other reason for his behavior. Maybe he'd thrown the tarp over him to keep all the food and water to himself.

Keroro shook his head at the ground. Giroro wasn't any good at being selfish, either. Maybe he thought no one else needed the supplies.

A fine trembling overtook his hands, which intensified the longer he stared at them. He mooshed them into his face; needing more evidence, he pinched and stretched his cheeks until tears came out.

Still alive. He rubbed his stinging face and sighed, then looked up at Giroro. "Hey, can you hear me?"

Giroro stabbed the second ration and dug it out of the fire. "Loud and clear."

Keroro jumped to his feet and swung his clenched fists down at his sides. "You big red buttface! How _dare_ you ignore your commanding officer!"

"I was wondering when I'd start hearing their voices," Giroro said, giving the campfire a tired smile. "The first one just had to be his."

Keroro's mouth opened and closed a few times before words could come out. "But I'm _right here._ " His jaw ached, and his throat squeezed the volume out of his words. "This isn't funny, Giroro! _Look_ at me!"

No reply from the corporal, still staring into the flames. Whatever wounds the bandages hid, Keroro didn't care. He punched Giroro square in the chin. Giroro's visible eye widened as he fell onto his side.

"You ungrateful jerk!" Keroro's words ran together in a broken shrill. "Can't even see your own commander standing in front of you? This is what happens after all we've been through together? I'm _dead_ to you?!" Giroro touched a hand to his sore chin as Keroro's tear-ragged ranting lowered to a wail. "I could be home building Gunpla right now!"

A fuse sparked in Giroro's brain, sending reaction shrapnel through his muscles. A lifetime of enduring laziness, excuses, and irresponsibility tempered his fist as he plowed it into Keroro's face.

Keroro's feet left the ground as his body did a little twist, and he landed face-first. The campfire snapped in the silence.

Giroro stared at his fist, then at Keroro. "You're really here."

Keroro rolled onto his back, propping himself up with his elbows, and grinned through a bloody nose. "In the flesh."

He oofed as Giroro grasped him in a crushing hug. Giroro's fingers made imprints on Keroro's skin as he told him in a harsh whisper, "Then _stay_ that way, dammit."

* * *

Dororo sped up his controlled descent into the chasm. As he closed in on Tamama and Kururu's life signals, he became more certain which one was fading. Complete darkness didn't slow his progress or prevent him from finding footholds. As a ninja, it was his element.

After finding a safe height to jump from, he dropped onto the bottom walkway to meet a familiar presence. Said presence gasped and stumbled backward.

He reached out to steady them. "Tamama, it's me."

Tamama stiffened in Dororo's hold. "Who? What?" He squinted. "Dororo?"

Dororo took his hands off Tamama's shoulders. "Yes. Are you all right?"

"I—yeah, I'm okay." Something strained at Tamama's voice. "But... wait, where's Sarge? Wasn't he s'posed to come with you?"

Dororo flinched inwardly at Tamama's assumption. But he wasn't wrong.

"We made it as far as the basin," Dororo said, "before we were separated." No need to upset Tamama with details; he already sounded close to tears. "Is Kururu with you?"

"Yeah." Tamama looked away. "But he's not doin' so good."

"I suspected as much. Take me to him."

Tamama trailed his fingers along the wall to guide himself, and Dororo followed at the younger Keronian's pace. They passed several doors, until Tamama ducked into the first open one. Dororo blinked as familiar orbs lit the cylinder-lined room.

"He's in here." Tamama continued into the alcove.

Dororo followed Tamama between the bunks, finding Kururu half-sunk into the middle of one. He climbed onto the mattress for a better look.

After a moment, he asked, "How long has he been like this?"

"He wasn't this bad until a few hours ago." Tamama peered over the edge of the bed, worrying at the side of the soft mattress with his hands. "He was hurt when I found him, but he kept actin' like it wasn't a big deal."

The stained bandage on Kururu's lower-right leg hadn't escaped Dororo's notice. He touched it lightly, and Kururu pulled away.

"Are you awake?" Dororo put a hand on Kururu's too-hot, too-slick shoulder. "It's Dororo. Just bear with me."

He unraveled the bandage, revealing a bled-through gauze pad peeling away from a swollen gash. Most of the heat came from there.

Dororo furrowed his brow. "How long has this been infected?" He felt Tamama flinch. "Do you know when he was injured?"

"I—I think the flea got him when he landed," Tamama said, guilty tears squelching his voice. "I tried to take care of it."

Dororo turned halfway to make eye contact with Tamama. "Can you help me carry him to the main room?"

Tamama sniffed and rubbed a forearm across his eyes, then nodded. Dororo turned Kururu onto his back, then prepared to lift him up. Kururu's hands found unsteady purchase on Dororo's shoulders and tried to shove him away.

Dororo pushed them back down with little force. "It's all right. I'm here to help."

Hazy comprehension clouded Kururu's features. "How? You're not, you're not even..."

Kururu didn't resist as Dororo maneuvered him to the edge of the bed. Tamama helped him to the floor, and they carefully dragged Kururu out between them.

Dororo didn't intend to take him far. The metal floor just outside the alcove was cracked—not wide enough to trip on, but deep enough below the floor for Dororo's needs.

They only went six feet, but Tamama quivered with every step.

"This is far enough," Dororo said, and Tamama's support vanished. The private fell against the wall by the alcove and slid down, holding an arm around his left side and taking shallow breaths. Dororo sat Kururu against the other wall nearby, then faced Tamama. His bruises stood out in the room's light. "What happened to you?"

Tamama shook his head, wincing. "I'm okay," he said in a shaky whisper. "I just—I landed bad. When we fell down here."

Dororo would have done the next task alone, but he couldn't forgo the assistance with a platoon member's life at stake. So he gave Tamama a few moments while he made preparations.

He went back for the items he'd seen upon entering the alcove: a bandage roll, a water bottle, and two canteens. The water vessels were all varying degrees of empty, so he took everything but the mostly-full canteen with him.

Tamama watched as Dororo set the items in a neat row nearby, then untied the rag from around his body. He hadn't thought to ask about the weird metal zigzag Dororo had been carrying around.

Its purpose became clear as Dororo put the zigzag on the floor, activated it, then unsheathed his sword as the metal glowed to life.

Tamama's eyes darted between Dororo's sword and the heating unit. "Wh-what're you gonna do?"

Dororo took the mostly-empty bottle. "Tamama. Whatever happens next, you _must_ do exactly as I say." He caught Tamama's wide-eyed gaze. "We have no room for hesitation. Understood?"

Tamama swallowed thickly and nodded. Satisfied, Dororo splashed the last of the bottle's water onto his blade, and held it over the scorching-orange heating unit. All the liquid hissed away instantly, and Dororo took his steaming sword back.

He set the weapon aside, and turned to Kururu, who was all but limp against the wall. Dororo wasn't sure he was conscious until he took Kururu under the arms, and Kururu squeezed him just above the elbow.

Kururu's murmuring was more lucid this time. "This better not be what it looks like."

Dororo laid Kururu on his stomach, allowing easy access to the wound. "Just keep still." Kururu shivered on the cold floor and drew his arms in. "It won't take long."

Dororo twisted what was left of the carrying cloth into a thin strip, stretching it taut between his hands. He cinched it around Kururu's right thigh, retrieved the still-steaming sword, and focused on the injury.

"Tamama," Dororo said. "Hold him down."

Tamama shuffled over on his knees, and pinned the sergeant major's arms to the floor with both hands. Kururu raised his head in a quick distressed motion as Dororo pressed a knee into his left leg.

"Oh hell." Kururu's tone was as clear as his realization. "You wouldn't—"

Dororo moved his sword in a blur, and the bloody gauze pad shredded away.

Tamama ducked his head when he saw the blade move—he wasn't ready when Kururu grabbed his arms a second later. Gasping, he shoved Kururu down by the wrists before he could mess up the careful vertical slice Dororo was making.

Kururu pressed his face into the floor to suppress a cry as Dororo put pressure on the freshly-opened leg wound. Blood and off-white liquid drained into the crack under the floor. Tamama's face went ashen, and Kururu cursed Dororo's existence in a run-on sentence.

Before long, bright red ran from the cut. Dororo grabbed the canteen he'd retrieved earlier, and rinsed the wound with its contents. He poured water over his sword as well, then held it over the still-activated heating element.

Tamama sobbed, but Dororo didn't give the blade time to cool. He turned to Kururu again, sword almost hot enough to sear his palm through the handle.

"Forgive me," Dororo said, and placed the flat of the blade directly on the cut.

Kururu flinched and made a strangled noise, but he'd stopped trying to twist his hands out of Tamama's grip. Dororo lifted the blade away—the wound was sealed. Those dreaded cauterization drills in training hadn't gone to waste after all.

He set his still-heated sword aside and untied the cloth from Kururu's thigh, restoring circulation to his lower leg. The fresh burn showed no change after several seconds, so Dororo took the gauze roll and bandaged it up.

Dororo sat back with a sigh, and turned off the heating unit. "It's done."

Tamama released Kururu's limp arms and averted his gaze, tear trails drying on his face. Kururu's skin was more grey than yellow.

"Thank you, Tamama. You did well," Dororo said. "I'll handle it from here."

Tamama didn't reply as he got to his feet and trudged into the alcove. Dororo slung Kururu over one shoulder with gentle movements. Kururu made no noise, but Dororo felt him breathing, and that was enough.

Dororo entered the alcove, where Tamama had already curled up in his bunk. The lance corporal's own fatigue ate at his muscles, but he carried Kururu safely to his bed, and went back for the canteen.

After gauging that it had a few mouthfuls left, he returned to Kururu's side with a folded strip from the gauze roll in his other hand. He moistened the gauze, and held it to the back of Kururu's neck until he twitched awake.

Dororo held the canteen so Kururu could drink. Kururu gave him a long stare, then managed a few swallows before turning away.

"You need more than that," Dororo said, keeping the canteen in position. "If it goes empty, I can refill it with—"

"Just finish me off." Kururu's thready whisper made Dororo's words stick in his throat. "Faster that way."

Dororo straightened on the bed, kneeling with the canteen held upright. "Commander wouldn't allow me to give up, so I won't allow it from either of you." He gripped the metal canteen between his hands. "I owe him that much."

Kururu didn't have a smart comeback for that; he'd fallen asleep. Dororo used the canteen's remnants on the folded-up gauze, so Kururu could at least absorb the moisture through his skin. He set the empty canteen aside, leapt onto Tamama's top bunk, and dropped to the floor with three of the four blankets he'd found there. One each went to his sleeping comrades, then Dororo sat at the foot of Kururu's bed with his own.

Drowsiness weighed on Dororo's meditative trance as he prepared to wait out the night.


	9. Time's a Luxury We Don't Have

Keroro and Giroro swapped stories and injury reports in the campfire light. Save the bruises on his sides, Keroro had survived direct contact with the flea unscathed, but he inquired after the corporal's bandaged state. Giroro briefly unwrapped his eye and one of his arms to show they weren't as bad as they looked.

"Well, that's a relief." Keroro sat slouched and cross-legged in front of the fire. "It's like I told Dororo, it'll take more than a little fall to kill you."

Giroro grunted as he stoked the flames with the wire. "I woke up like this, surrounded by wreckage." He gestured to the junk scattered around them, including the makeshift shelter. "Didn't remember a thing between being on the ship and waking up here. With nobody around and no way to contact anyone, I guess I assumed the worst."

The fire popped, failing to cover Keroro's snicker. Giroro looked up to find him smirking. "What?"

"Giroro. Were you trying to live out another one of your action hero fantasies?"

" _Huh?_ "

Keroro went full Movie Preview Voice: "'Stranded on a hostile alien planet, a lone soldier makes his last stand against the enemy to avenge his fallen comrades.' You really convinced yourself, didn't you?"

"Don't make me punch you again!"

Keroro laughed at how easy it was to get Giroro riled up. But Giroro quickly calmed; there was relief in familiarity.

"Well, the action hero thing is _kinda_ true." Keroro stared at a cinder that landed near his feet. "Dororo said you squared off with the flea, and made sure I landed okay."

Giroro blinked, and glanced at the cinder as its glow greyed out. "Really?" He absently touched his eye bandage. "What about the others?" Giroro's question made Keroro look up. "You mentioned Dororo. Did the others make it?"

Keroro nodded with certainty. "I haven't seen 'em myself, but I heard Tamama and Kururu resonating back at us." He balled his hands into fists. "And we were _just_ about to find 'em, but that stupid flea—"

"Hold on." Giroro held up a hand to interrupt. "The four of you were resonating? With _that_ thing around?"

"Well what the heck else were we supposed to do?" Keroro huffed. "It's the only long-distance communication we got right now. Speakin' of!" He hopped to his feet. "If Dororo's still out there, we should—"

Giroro reached Keroro in two swift steps and grasped him by the shoulder. "Don't."

Keroro whipped around, wrenching himself from Giroro's hold with an order on the tip of his tongue. But the look in Giroro's uncovered eye made him decide it wasn't worth it.

"With any luck, Dororo managed to regroup with Kururu and Tamama," said Giroro. "But for now, we'll have to make our own chance to do the same."

"Make it?" Keroro sat by the fire again, its flame flickering low against the night.

Giroro took a seat beside him. "I'm killing the flea next time it shows up." He jabbed a thumb back at the scrap shelter. "Acid round's in there."

Keroro's mouth dropped open. "I totally forgot about that! Heck, I'm surprised it made it here in one piece!"

The corporal shrugged. "I was going to complete this mission alone, if I had to."

Keroro snorted. "Glory hog. So when do you think it'll come?"

"Tomorrow morning, I'd say, after the light hits it." Giroro crossed his arms. "No doubt it'll be after the meal that got away."

Keroro's breath squeaked in his throat, and he hugged himself. "Th-that's not funny! I almost _died,_ ya know!"

"I'm serious, Keroro. Think about it. When's the last time the flea ate anything? It came to Pekopon looking for a meal, and we intercepted it."

Keroro took a moment to process that. "Dororo did say it'd come after us. But why _me?_ "

Giroro grinned. "Because now it has a taste for green dumpling."

Keroro scowled and hugged himself tighter. "Not helping!"

For the first time since the platoon left Earth, Giroro laughed.

Keroro dropped his arms and sighed. "Can we at least get some sleep? I'm bushed."

Giroro nodded and stood. He ducked into the shelter, with Keroro following suit, the last of the fire smoldering behind them.

"Your tent was so much roomier."

"Deal with it."

* * *

Thick clouds called for another storm. Their rusty vapor backed by the orange-red sun lent intensity to the morning air.

Giroro briefed Keroro on the operation in the time it took them to eat two XV-Kas rations each. They headed out afterwards, and Giroro took a hand-sized sphere wrapped in metal bands with him, their ace.

The two walked a hundred paces or so, keeping a tense silence between them. Flat, barren wastes surrounded the campsite, like the plateau Keroro had landed on days ago. Giroro stopped, and Keroro halted beside him, taking a moment to brace himself.

When the butterflies in his stomach settled, Keroro glanced sideways at his friend. Giroro nodded once, then lifted a hand and curled each finger inward, one at a time. When his hand became a fist, they began.

_Gero gero gero gero..._

_Giro giro giro giro..._

The air rang with their combined voices, drowning out the low rumble above. Rain accompanied their duet, darkening the dirt in droves of dots.

Seconds later, a lone spectator thundered across the wastes.

Both Keronians stopped resonating, and Giroro darted several yards away. Keroro shifted his feet into a ready stance and waited as the hulking lump in the distance bounced closer.

Each raindrop felt like a second hand ticking backward. He hoped it wasn't meant for him.

One more jump, and the flea would be in place. As it bunched up its back legs, Giroro pressed a button on the metal-banded sphere with his thumb. The flea leapt, and the bands spread and coiled around Giroro's outstretched arm.

The rain, the flea, the air, everything except Keroro's heart seemed to slow down. He noticed, with alarming clarity, each movement the descending flea made as it pointed its bladed forelegs at his chest.

_There's only one acid round. There's only one acid round. There's—_

The flea shifted to aim its life-sucking mouthparts at him instead.

Keroro bolted as Giroro sighted his arm-cannon at the flea's head. The flea's mouthparts pierced solid rock, driving straight through until the flea's cycloptic centered eye was mere feet from the ground.

Giroro steadily moved the arm-cannon's sights, waiting for the aiming reticle's signal. With his depth perception hampered, he couldn't afford to miss.

He stopped at an electronic double-beep, squeezed the trigger, and experienced zero recoil as a small glass sphere fired from the barrel on his wrist.

The acid round had scarcely left the gun when the stone trapping the space flea's mouthparts cracked and turned to sand.

Keroro stopped running when he heard the acid-shooter go off. Turning against his body's desire to keep going and never stop, and appeasing it with mental images of the space flea melting into an aromatic puddle, he about-faced.

He hadn't gotten as far as he'd thought. The flea's shadow still darkened the soaked land, raindrops spattering off its completely solid carapace.

The space flea's mouthparts were embedded in the plateau, a perfect imitation of its Earth counterpart on a fleshy host. A shallow crater spread around it.

Keroro whipped his gaze to Giroro, frozen in post-firing position. "Didn't you shoot it?!"

Giroro didn't move. In his head, a scene ran on loop: As the round hurtled towards the flea's eye, caustic liquid sloshing inside, the target's head dipped a half-inch. The round bounced between its front antennae, rolled down its back, and disappeared.

A grey dust cloud formed around the flea. Keroro stared; it was too rainy for dust. Then he realized the growing crater around the flea wasn't even wet.

Keroro's gut curdled as he somehow knew what was happening, but couldn't put it into words. He ran to Giroro, who was closer to the crater, and grabbed his free arm.

"Let's get outta here!" Keroro tugged, getting no response. " _Giroro!_ "

Giroro's gun-arm lowered stiffly, the contraption slipping from his damp skin to the ground. Keroro was close enough to the crater to watch the rain falling in evaporate before it touched the bottom. The rock surrounding the flea's mouthparts had gone from red to ash.

Between clouds of dust, Keroro caught sight of the flea's single eye, its thin vertical pupil vibrating madly.

He yanked Giroro off his feet, the corporal lurching after him as Keroro forced him to escape.

—

The drenched remains of the campfire leaked soot in rivulets as rain drummed a solo on the various materials making up the shelter. Keroro sat crouched inside, glancing across the cramped space every so often. Every time, Giroro still had his head in his hands.

Keroro licked his lips. They tasted rusty, but at least were already moist. "Listen, it's not—"

"I had one shot." Giroro's fingers clenched on his head. " _One_ shot. And I wasted it."

"But—" Keroro searched for words that didn't sound like an excuse. "The flea did something, it was almost like..." The near-comprehension from earlier blossomed into understanding. "Like it was trying to eat the planet. You couldn't have known it was gonna do that."

"But I should have." Giroro sighed at the ground. "I should've known starvation would make it unpredictable. That was our last chance to kill it." He lowered his arms. "I'm sorry, Keroro."

Rain and thunder took over the conversation, and Keroro stared at his feet. Out of his entire dirt-stained body, they'd been dyed the darkest from hours of sun-scorched walking.

His hands curled themselves into fists. "Let's go find the others."

"And do what?" The bitter clip in Giroro's tone lacked energy. "We've failed the mission. There's nothing left to—"

"When did I say you could give up, soldier?!" Keroro overrode him with sharp delivery. "I won't tolerate that kinda sissy-talk around here!"

He stood to exercise rank and authority, slammed his head against the low ceiling, and sat down cringing with tears in his eyes.

A whining noise made Giroro glance up. For a second, Keroro looked less like a commander, and more like the pushy child he grew up with.

"Dororo's still out there." Keroro's voice was quiet. "He still thinks you're dead."

Giroro's throat constricted. He swallowed and said, "He does?"

Keroro nodded, and looked Giroro in the eye. "He couldn't sense you. I guess he figured that sealed the deal, but I didn't wanna believe it." A smile tugged at his expression as his voice grew stronger. "And here you are. How do ya like _them_ apples?"

Something untensed inside of Giroro. He'd been so focused on succeeding that failure had become an undesirable void.

But there he was, existing after the fact. He hadn't killed the flea, but Keroro was still there, grinning before him. And everyone else was waiting for them.

Keroro held his right hand out to Giroro. "C'mon, Red. Let's go back and rub it in Doro-mire's face."

Giroro met Keroro's eyes, seized his hand, and grinned back.

* * *

Dororo realized he'd fallen asleep instead of meditating when someone's muttering woke him up. He blinked into alertness, unable to determine how long he'd been out, and shifted his blanket aside.

Kururu stayed asleep as Dororo checked him over with an imperceptible touch. His pulse was stronger, and his temperature had gone back to normal. One of Dororo's mental weights vanished as he returned to his corner of the bed.

"That you, Commander?"

Dororo quit moving and stared. Kururu remained silent, breathing deep and even.

After a moment, Dororo sat back and drew the blanket around his shoulders.

* * *

An enticing smell drew Tamama out of the alcove. Dororo sat before the heating unit, now with one of those dried rodents skewered on it.

"You can cook those?" was the best thing Tamama could come up with.

Dororo chuckled, seated next to a pile of already-heated rations. "I've prepared some, if you're hungry."

Tamama sat by the pile, the ache in his stomach greater than the one in his ribs. He grabbed one and started munching its torso, turning it like corn on the cob.

Dororo removed the latest ration from the heating element, and turned the device off. He sensed rather than saw Tamama's outstretched hand, and placed the freshly-warmed food in his palm.

Tamama ate half of his second helping before he asked, "So, what now? Are we gonna go look for Sarge?"

Dororo crossed his arms and gazed thoughtfully at the floor. "I'd like to find him as soon as possible, too. But first, the two of you need to recover."

Tamama swallowed another bite of alien jerky. "I'm not that bad, really." He rolled the pronged tail between his fingers. "Um, how... what happened to Sarge?"

Eyes still on the floor, the lance corporal took a bracing breath. "The space flea threw him far out of my sight." 

The rat tail snapped in Tamama's hands.

Dororo looked up—Tamama's eyes swam with tears. "But it didn't kill him," he said. "He likely survived wherever he landed." He sighed. "But beyond that..."

His reassurance trailed into an uncomfortable silence. Tamama wiped a hand across his eyes, and dried it on his hat.

Which reminded Dororo. "Tamama, your hat."

Tamama blinked, caught off-guard, then clutched a rust-stained flap. "Yeah, I did the filter thing. Kururu actually didn't know about it."

"His military training was probably much different from ours." Dororo picked up two cooked rations and stood. "Has he woken up yet?"

"I think he's been awake for a while." Tamama reached for his third ration. "Not like he wants us to know."

While Tamama bit the head off his rat jerky, Dororo entered the alcove. Kururu lay on his stomach, blanket drawn up like a hood, hunkered down behind his folded arms. The laptop, which Dororo had retrieved and placed on the bed before starting on the rations, laid unopened before him.

Dororo climbed up to sit on the edge of the bed; Kururu didn't even glance at him. The lance corporal held one of the rations out beside him. "You should eat if you want to regain your strength."

Kururu turned his face away. Dororo couldn't see his expression, but that sullen look was easy to imagine.

Eventually, a response came. "Couldn't tell him straight, could you."

Dororo placed the ration back in his lap with the other. "I spoke honestly, Kururu. Keroro isn't dead, as far as I'm concerned, and I don't think you want to believe he is, either."

Kururu shrugged under the blanket. "Didn't wanna get carved up like a Christmas cake, and look where that got me."

Dororo knew when someone didn't want him around; it was worse than being ignored. But he also knew when his presence was needed regardless.

"Without Keroro, I never would have found you two so quickly. If the worst has indeed happened, then I don't want his—our efforts to be in vain."

Kururu put a hand on the closed laptop, rubbing his thumb where the two halves met. "Wouldn't be the first time Commander mistook resonance for an actual strategy."

They shared a brief pause, then Kururu tilted a hand back over his shoulder. Dororo gave him a ration, which swiftly vanished under the blanket. A few seconds of hasty chomping, and Kururu's hand was out again.

Dororo smiled and gave him the other ration. "I suppose I'll have to prepare more." He slid off the mattress, and encountered Tamama at the doorway. "You're finished already?"

"Yeah, I'm stuffed." Tamama patted his belly with both hands, then yawned. "I think it's time for a nap." He climbed into his bunk with measured movements, lowered himself onto his unbruised side, and pulled up the blanket.

Dororo left the alcove, finding that Tamama hadn't eaten any more after the third ration. He retrieved one from the pile, and went back to the bunks.

"Got a job for ya." Kururu kept his voice low as Dororo entered; Tamama was already asleep. The laptop was open and booting up Kururu's personal OS. "How long is that food gonna last?"

Dororo gave Kururu the ration, then climbed up to sit beside him. "No more than a week," he said, matching the sergeant major's speaking volume. "Even if it's just between the two of you."

"And the water?"

"About the same. We can only filter so much of what's collected at the bottom."

Kururu kept his eyes on the screen, opening programs and typing short commands. "Then we'd better get outta this hole."

"Your leg needs time to heal," Dororo said. "And Tamama's—"

"Time's a luxury we don't have." Kururu fullscreened the chasm layout he'd downloaded. "Look. We're here," he said, clicking to place a flag on their room near the bottom of the map, "and you're gonna head up here." Another click connected a line reaching three floors above on the opposite side of the chasm. "It's marked as chemical storage, which is just generic enough to assume that includes meds."

Dororo knit his brow, but it was past the time for argument. He took a second to commit the path to memory, and nodded. "Understood." He hopped to the floor with soundless steps.

—

His senior sure was taking his time, Kururu thought. He'd been watching Dororo's blue dot advancing up the chasm in increments for the past fifteen minutes. He and Tamama weren't the only ones performing at less than a hundred percent, Kururu guessed.

Dororo finally reached the door to the chemical storage, but didn't move for another minute. Just as Kururu's finger hovered over the designated talk button, the dot entered. Kururu didn't have details of individual rooms, so he listened.

Static preceded Dororo's voice. "As you expected, there are medical supplies here. I can recognize most of it."

Kururu propped his chin on his folded arms. "So what've we got here?"

"Antibiotics, painkillers, disinfectant." He paused. "Much of it can only be taken intravenously, but the syringes are too large for us."

"Get whatever we can take orally of the first two, and stuff to apply the third." Kururu watched the dot jerk around, his program unable to properly track Dororo's ninja speed. "Let's just hope the painkillers aren't too strong. Or expired."

"You're not hurting, are you?"

Kururu squinted his swirls at the screen. "Am I the one who smashed his ribs on a guard rail?"

"So that's what happened. Tamama was vague about it." A couple more minutes, then: "If there's nothing else we need, I'll head back now."

"I'd love to waste time on a thorough search, but this'll have to do."

—

Dororo slid the door shut behind him, shouldering the items in two satchels he'd found among the medical supplies. Sunlight dimmed by clouds far above dispelled the darkness at the bottom of the pit. Collected rainwater mirrored an overcast sky, though the mound of cat-alien corpses choked most of that reflection.

He paid silent respects, head bowed and eyes closed. His theory of another flea attacking the planet before their arrival returned to mind.

Upon thinking that, Dororo gazed at the corpse pile again. Something was off about its shape.

He shifted his hands and feet into position, and focused. " _Eye of Judgement._ "

Dororo's eyes went blank as analytic lines of Assassin Magic swept over them.

The sodden pile came into sharp relief. Then, under the bodies, so did something else.

Kururu's dry tone cut through his concentration. "What the hell is so damn fascinating?"

Dororo's eyes faded back to blue. He relaxed his stance, and put a hand to his ear. "Are you aware of the mass grave at the bottom of this chasm?"

"Yeah, so?"

"There is a space flea among the dead."

—

Kururu stared through the lines on the map, past its blue background. He didn't ask if Dororo was messing with him, because he didn't want to hear a yes.

Dororo's discovery had confirmed and bucked Kururu's theory all in one go. Not only had a flea laid waste to XV-Kas, it also never left. That left only one reason for their flea's sudden awakening, and the cause of their current situation.

More importantly, it proved something else. For all his perceived lack of foresight, none of it was his fault.

After a moment, Kururu refocused on the laptop. He relegated the map to the right half of the screen, then filled the remaining space with the chasm construction supply list.

"Check the room facing ours on the bottom floor," Kururu said over the comm link. "I just found our ticket outta here."


	10. Rock Pillar Run

Tamama was awake when Dororo returned to the alcove, or at least tried to look the part.

Dororo noticed Tamama's downcast expression. "How do you feel?"

Tamama jerked his head up, startled, and covered it with, "Oh, fine. I'm fine. Just sleepy." He loosely cradled his arms around himself.

Kururu and Dororo shared a glance. Dororo set the two satchels between the bunks, and extracted the bottle of painkillers.

"You have the most medical knowledge among us," he said, passing the bottle to Kururu. "So if there's anything I might have overlooked..."

Kururu took the bottle and turned it over in his hands to read around the label. "Nah, it's good. But let's go with one instead of two, just in case."

He handed it back. Tamama followed the movement, eyes on the bottle, as Dororo opened it and shook out a small grey sphere. It rolled into Dororo's palm with unusual weight for its size, and he offered it to Tamama.

Tamama accepted the pill and swallowed it with a drink of water. He coughed once, shuddered, and breathed out.

Then he noticed the others staring at him. "What?"

A few seconds passed, then Kururu shrugged. "Well, he hasn't dropped dead yet. So gimme."

Dororo set the painkillers aside. "First," he said, reaching into the bag, "take some of this." He pulled out a larger bottle, filled with what appeared to be ice cream topping.

Kururu crossed his arms, looking stern. "I sent you to get us meds, not jimmies."

Some of Tamama's laughter leaked out as he bit his lip and grinned. Dororo closed his eyes briefly. "Kururu, please. They're the antibiotics you requested."

Kururu chuckled and took the bottle to inspect it. The label revealed that each tiny pill contained a different cocktail of ingredients. They were incomplete individually, working only when combined with different colors.

He mentally converted the dosage to milligrams, measured out three colors in his palm, and swallowed them dry.

Before Dororo could comment on that, Kururu's palm came out again, beckoning for the painkiller. Dororo sighed and handed him the bottle.

"We're gonna leave soon, right?" Tamama's question came out chipper. "How're we gettin' out?"

Kururu looked up from the little grey pill in his hand at Tamama's bright, perky expression. "Damn. That's good stuff." He took a moment to swallow it, then said, "You'll see soon enough."

* * *

Morning came. In a place studded with wind-eroded rock pillars, a fair distance from the lakebed, a small section of soil crumbled into a precise hole. Moments later, three Keronians emerged. Tamama hopped outside first, while Dororo gave Kururu a hand up.

"Are you sure we can't take it with us?" said Tamama, speaking at a normal volume. One of the satchels hung at his left side, covering the bruise. Dororo had the other satchel; they'd split the water and other supplies between them. "It'd be way faster than walking."

"Can't afford to," Kururu said. "I'm savin' it for a _special_ occasion." Tamama didn't know what to make of the way Kururu pronounced that word.

"Now that we're outside," said Dororo, "I'll scout ahead, while you two follow at your own pace. I'll return if I find something, or if you need me." He turned to Kururu. "North-northwest, wasn't it?"

Kururu shifted his footing to keep the weight off his freshly-bandaged right leg out of habit. "That's where all the seismic activity's comin' from."

Tamama glanced at both of them in turn, brow furrowed. "What if it comes after us?"

"Not likely," Kururu said. "Its movements indicate it's occupied with somethin' else already."

Before Tamama could think about that, Dororo told them to keep safe and vanished, reappearing in glimpses on rock pillars farther and farther away. Kururu made to take a step forward, but halted before he could collide with Tamama's palm.

The private held that gesture with an unyielding frown. "Dororo said you shouldn't be walkin' around."

"And you think either of you can tell _me_ what to do?" Kururu met Tamama's eyes—rank-pulling glare versus insubordinate glint. Tamama broke off the staring contest first, turning around and offering his hands behind him. The sergeant major sighed, and got on. "It's your own damn fault if this screws up your ribs."

"They don't even hurt anymore!" Tamama's cheer made Kururu more aware of the oppressive humidity. Clouds blocked the sun, but kept its heat close. "Now c'mon, Dororo's gonna get mad if we don't get moving."

With Kururu settled on his back, Tamama started walking, then sped up to a jog. For all his reluctance, Kururu didn't complain over the mild jostling, and Tamama kept a good pace.

They had no need to check the map, as all three were headed in the same direction. As soon as Dororo got close enough to sense anything, he'd come back and lead them in the exact right direction.

 _Kid's really bookin' it._ Kururu mentally timed the distance from a trio of rock pillars to a set of twins they'd just passed. _We hit the jackpot with those painkillers._ His leg hadn't bothered him since the previous day. Still, he didn't go out of his way to stay on it. Hot knives made a convincing argument.

Which made him think: Maybe Tamama was pushing it a little, carrying him around. But Tamama was a shock trooper, a martial artist, and showed no signs of flagging. If he'd done worse than bruised ribs, he wouldn't be running at all, painkillers notwithstanding.

Tamama stumbled a step, then carried on. Kururu looked down—uneven ground, with flat patches of dead vegetation clinging to cracks.

The private readjusted his hold. Probably to keep Kururu from slipping out of his sweaty arms.

Then Kururu noticed Tamama was the only one actually sweating. Overcast humidity kept Kururu's moisture stuck to him, for the most part. But Tamama wasn't going that fast, or carrying that much.

"Hey." Kururu tugged a stained earflap. "Ain't it about time for a water break?"

"You're thirsty now?" Tamama puffed like he was just on his morning run. "'Cause I'm still good."

Thunder rumbled like a premonition. "Just humor me."

The private grumbled, but slowed to a stop to let Kururu off. Kururu seated himself on the rough earth and waited.

Tamama flipped open the satchel and offered the canteen. Kururu gestured back to him and said, "After you."

Tamama shrugged and took a swig. He shut his eyes tight, swallowed the water like a rock, and handed the canteen to Kururu again.

Kururu looked past it to fix Tamama with an unreadable expression.

Tamama hunched his shoulders and frowned. "What?"

"Nothin'." Kururu took the canteen.

—

Hours passed in the rock pillar field with no contact from Dororo. Tamama never broke his stride, except when Kururu asked him to.

Which happened to be every thirty minutes. Usually so Kururu could stretch his legs, but always to make Tamama drink something.

"Hey, stop for a sec."

Tamama ignored Kururu and kept going under low-hanging clouds.

"You heard me."

"No way," Tamama said, pounding one foot in front of the other.

Clouds flashed lightning messages, replied with thunder, and rain finally washed away the adherent heat. It began as a deluge, already forming small puddles everywhere.

Tamama splashed through them, the two Keronians already soaked through. A pair of pillars loomed in the mist ahead, one with its top third crumbled off beside it.

Kururu poked the back of Tamama's head. "Seriously, the visibility's too low to run around like this. Lemme off so I can get our bearings."

"Ugh! Fine." Tamama veered left for the one and two-thirds pillars. Once there, he let Kururu down, shoved the bag at him, and crossed his arms in a huff.

Kururu sat cross-legged and retrieved his laptop to check the map. Rusty rain slid between the moisture-proof keys as Kururu zoomed out from their current position. Despite repeated taps, only his and Tamama's dots were present.

"Must be pretty far ahead," he muttered. Tamama paced, pulled himself onto the fallen pillar portion, and sat banging his heels against the rock. "But he couldn't have gotten... there we go." A blue dot blinked on the upper-left reaches of the map, and Kururu repositioned the map to keep Dororo's ever-moving signal in view. "Yep, we're a little off. But we can afford to hang out here 'til the storm lets up. He's probably—"

"But what if we keep him waiting?" Tamama slapped the rock with both hands. "I bet he's found Sarge by now!"

Kururu looked up. "Then he'd come back to tell us, numbnuts. Why wouldn't he?"

"Because—" Tamama shook his head, earflaps swinging. "I dunno, jeez!" He slid off the rock, bouncing on his feet. "C'mon, let's just keep going."

Kururu lifted the laptop and tilted it, excess water running onto the ground. "Go on by yourself if you want. I'm sure Dororo's gonna be real happy about that."

Tamama stomped hard ground that refused to soak in moisture. "Why do you have to be such a big jerk-hole?!"

Kururu leaned back on his hands, radiating smugness. "You're no prize yourself."

"That's it, I'm gone!" Tamama whipped around, fists clenched. "And I don't care if you get struck by lightning, or eaten, or whatever!" He flicked his tail at Kururu and strode away. "'Cause you _deserve_ it!"

Kururu watched him leave. Tamama advanced briskly past the fallen rock, stopped, and leaned a hand on it.

"What, had enough solo adventuring already?" Kururu shifted to lean forward and crossed his arms. "Just take five, it won't kill you."

Tamama's gaze remained on the drenched earth. He took another step forward, then stumbled to his knees behind the rock, out of Kururu's sight.

Kururu started to get up, and froze when he heard retching.

It stopped, eventually. He was sure, because the rain, unable to drown it out over the past several minutes, now replaced every sound.

Kururu stood and sidled around the rock. The storm had washed away any mess, and Tamama lay on his side, unmoving.

He'd been right to suspect something, Kururu realized. But he'd still been wrong.


	11. For the Living

Dororo ran across the wastes in the direction Kururu had indicated. Rain skimmed off him, unable to secure a hold as he resisted encroaching fatigue. As Tamama and Kururu's presences faded into the distance, he kept his senses open for any new ones waiting ahead.

The sloping rise to a plateau came into view. It wasn't the isolated mesa that drew Dororo's attention, but the two life signals on top of it. He made a beeline up the slope, and the pair ahead rushed to meet him.

But their speed was disquieting somehow. Dororo stopped near the top of the rise, and for an instant, the two signals vanished.

The space flea soared overhead, briefly dominating every type of vision Dororo possessed. Its hostile intent pricked hot needles under his skin, and he dodged its head-first strike, the flea's mouthparts driving into the ground he'd just been standing on. He jumped farther back as all moisture within a ten-foot radius of the struck spot evaporated. Deep cracks formed and broke, turning from rock to sand to color-drained ash.

The flea's slit-pupil vibrated and constricted as it found no sustenance.

That pair of life signs started moving again, and the flea jerked back, freeing itself in a flurry of white ash. It lunged for Dororo, who leapt straight up, hopped off one of its gigantic forelegs, and landed on its armored back.

The flea threw itself on its back, into the shallow pit it had just made. Dororo sprang to safety as the flea thrashed in the dust, creating an impromptu smoke screen for Dororo to escape through.

He ninja-sprinted to gain distance on the flea before it could right itself. Ahead of him, a wavering figure took shape in the rain-mist.

Then a voice called out, the clearest he'd heard in days.

" _Dororooo!_ "

Dororo stopped to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. "Giro—"

The flea slammed down so close behind him he bounced clear off his feet. The landing took him to his hands and knees, and he fought to get his feet under himself.

Dororo's nerves lit up as the flea's mouthparts stabbed for his unprotected neck.

Something shot out of the mist and slammed into the flea's eye. It reared back and bucked, trying to dislodge the fist-sized rock with no success. The ground quaked as it sprang once, twice, three times—away from Dororo, back down the slope.

Another silhouette joined the first. They gained substance and character as they approached: Keroro puffing like he'd run a marathon, Giroro with an empty acid round shooter strapped to his arm. Heat rippled up from the metal bands in the moist air.

They were waving and shouting something. Dororo rose against shaky limbs, stumbled, but managed to run again. The world went mute as he focused on Giroro's bandages. But they were marvelous, because bandages were for the living.

Hands reached out to support Dororo as he approached, green and red. Keroro and Giroro spoke, but only the sound of their voices came through. Dororo would worry about the words later, as soon as he stopped crying.

* * *

The rain tapered off to a patter, but Kururu was in no mood to go anywhere. He'd maneuvered Tamama back behind the fallen pillar section, away from where he'd collapsed. It wasn't much different from when he'd dragged him into that cave days ago, though Tamama had been heavier then.

Raindrops hit Tamama's slack face. His hat, its former yellow a faint memory, oozed purified water into dirty puddles.

Kururu shoved aside gauze rolls as he dug through the satchel, and found the right medicine bottle. He clenched the lid in his fingertips, then checked himself—they needed to get out of the rain first.

"Hey." Kururu poked Tamama's shoulder. "I said take five, not ten."

A muscle twitched in Tamama's face. He squinched his eyes shut tighter, turning his head away.

"Come on, we gotta find shelter." Kururu peered through the fading mist; none of the rock pillars would help. He opened the laptop and hit a couple keys to start communication. "Yo, Dororo, we got a situation here."

Static. Then Dororo's voice came through, his response garbled beyond comprehension.

"Dororo, do you copy?" Interference buzzed in Kururu's headphones. He ended the call with a huff. " _Real_ convenient."

He brought up the terrain map. The rock pillar field gave way to more elevated outcroppings not much farther off, a few overhanging structures among them. It wasn't the most ideal, but Kururu memorized the location of the nearest one.

Kururu put the laptop in the bag and slung it over himself. "C'mon, bratface." He prodded Tamama once more. "Get up."

Tamama took a noisy breath and curled on his side away from Kururu, coughing. He calmed after a moment and pushed himself upright, only to start coughing again, like something was stuck deep in his throat.

Kururu watched Tamama's hunched posture from behind. "On your feet. We gotta walk."

Tamama shifted around, leaning on his hands to look at Kururu with heavy-lidded eyes. "Where's Dororo?"

"He's busy. We'll catch up with him later." Kururu took the private under the arms and stood, forcing Tamama to stand with him. "But we're goin' someplace drier first."

Supporting Tamama, Kururu stepped forward. Tamama didn't even lift his feet.

The sergeant major tugged him along. " _Walk._ Your brain can process that, right?"

Tamama shuffled one foot forward, then another. Kururu continued, stuck with Tamama's pace.

Fifty feet felt like fifty miles. Tamama stumbled at uneven spots, and Kururu couldn't make up for the private's poor balance on one leg alone. His bandaged wound started aching well before the halfway point—the painkillers were finally starting to wear off.

They reached the overhang an eternity later. Tamama leaned heavily against Kururu, face buried in one arm as he tried to hack up whatever he'd developed during his chasm stay. Kururu had suspected the mood swings and unusual energy were side effects of the painkiller, but they covered up the true problem.

By the time he knew what it was, he'd made it worse.

He lowered Tamama onto the dry strip of ground the overhang provided. The private curled up again as Kururu sat with a graceless flop, gritting his teeth, and retrieved the antibiotics.

Tamama blinked up at the bottle. "Whassat for?"

Kururu unscrewed the lid. "Here." He offered the bottle to Tamama.

The private closed his eyes, mumbling, "Don't need it."

"The hell you don't." Kururu yanked Tamama upright by one arm. "Now quit screwin' around and take some."

Tamama gave the bottle a glassy-eyed stare, then reached for it.

Something rumbled. Kururu looked up, thinking it was thunder, and the overhang collapsed on top of them as the space flea crashed through it.

* * *

Dororo's head jerked up, and the two Keronians supporting him stopped.

Giroro noticed the alarm in his eyes. "What is it?"

Dororo steadied himself as he found words to explain the sudden peak and plummet of two life signals not far off. "Something has happened to Kururu and Tamama."

Keroro went wide-eyed. "You _found_ 'em?!"

Dororo nodded. "I arranged for them to follow behind while I scouted ahead." He took a step back, slipping out of their hold. "We were all heading in the same direction, but I shouldn't have left them. They weren't prepared for this."

He turned away; someone caught his arm. Dororo looked back to protest, and found Giroro smirking.

"You're slowing up, Dororo." His expression turned serious. "You can't do much to help them like this."

"But—"

"That's enough, you two." Keroro's commanding tone caused them both to face him out of pure conditioning. "Giroro, take him back to camp. I'll go get Kururu and Tamama myself."

"But Commander..." Dororo's objections failed to take shape. He searched the ground briefly before looking at Keroro again. "They shouldn't be far from here."

Keroro met the eyes of his two friends in turn. "We're gonna reunite the platoon, finish this mission, and _win._ Have I made myself clear?"

Giroro and Dororo gave a single, strong answer: "Roger!"

* * *

Cracks split Kururu's vision. Something pressed against him on the right, and a heavy weight pinned most of his body flat.

He turned his head, damaged lenses scraping the ground, and saw the antibiotics bottle within arm's reach. He pawed for it, rolling the open container towards himself.

It was empty. Melted rainbow medicine stained the nearby puddles.

The ground shook, shifting the weight on his back. He shoved upward with his head and shoulders in a desperate surge of energy, and knocked the fragmented stone slab aside.

The flea thrashed ten feet in front of him, banging its head against the dirt with each quake. Its eyeball had a rock lodged in it, viscous purple fluid leaking out around the edges.

Kururu wanted to know who had made the flea go berserk, so he could murder them.

The flea faced him, and Kururu stiffened. His good leg was still pinned, and he had no idea if Tamama was alive or dead under the rubble.

He shifted, and felt a hard smoothness under his ribs. His laptop, sticking halfway out of the satchel, had gotten wedged beneath him. He pried it out, flipped it open, and positioned his fingers over four specific keys.

 _It's too early. It'll ruin our chances._ Kururu's hands hovered in place. _But if I don't—_

A tall chunk of rubble stood at attention in his right peripheral vision, and he froze a hairsbreadth from pressing the keys.

The rock fell with a crackling echo, and Tamama rose to his feet. He lowered his right arm, face hidden by an earflap, and stepped forward. Pebbles bounced away from his feet, untouched. Invisible pressure brushed Kururu as Tamama walked past.

The flea planted its hooked feet and shook itself, failing to dislodge the rock embedded in its eyeball. Tamama stopped, head down and arms loose. As if noticing, the flea faced its injured eye toward him.

Tamama lifted a hand, palm forward, and pushed while standing still. Dust burst away from him in a circle, and wind sang over the guard hairs on the flea's carapace.

Then the stone shot sideways out of the impacted eye, splitting it open with a delayed spurt of ichor. The flea erupted into earth-shaking throes and thrashing leg-blades.

Kururu braced himself on his elbows as Tamama swayed, but not from dodging. He wriggled his stuck leg, and started to inch it free.

The flea rolled closer to Kururu as it flailed, mouthparts swinging overhead with an eerie whistle. They swept past again as Kururu pressed himself flat to the ground, piercing end scraping the dirt millimeters from his hands. The line drawn in the soil dissolved into fine sand, and Kururu yanked his arms inward.

The flea stabbed at the ground near Kururu, definitely blind, though its mark was only inches away. Kururu inhaled sharply through clenched teeth and whipped his hand to the open laptop as the flea struck for his head.

 _SNAP—_ Tamama's flying kick split through the piercing tubes. The flea overbalanced from the unexpected force and fell, giving Kururu an up-close view of pulsating eyeball shreds. He somehow found room to recoil.

Tamama appeared next to Kururu in one instant, and plunged his hand into the flea's eye in another. It squelched and seeped in his grip. The flea's long legs slid against the dirt, failing to find purchase or escape, as Tamama ripped the eyeball out in an act of wasteland revenge.

Kururu appreciated it, in a way. But Tamama's heavy breathing, his blank stare, spelled the inevitable end of his adrenaline-fueled power trip.

The flea's quaking throes further loosened the rubble pinning Kururu. He hauled himself forward, and finally got his good leg free. "Okay, you got what you wanted," he said, turning around to unwedge his bandaged leg. "Now let's get the hell outta here."

Tamama, still holding the beachball-sized eye, lurched toward the flea. His breath hitched and clogged in his throat, but that didn't stop him from reaching his other hand toward the bleeding, empty socket.

"We're done here, you moron!" Kururu grunted as he pulled his foot free of the rubble too quickly. "Now drop that thing and run!"

Tamama took a raspy breath and stared into the darkness where the flea's eye used to be. " _Give Sarge back._ "

Something pierced Kururu inside where no space arthropod could reach. His heart pounded a plea to escape, but he followed Tamama's stare into a bleeding void instead.

Tamama's shaking arm lowered against his will, and the flea gathered its feet under itself. Its sight was gone, and its mouthparts were broken, but it towered over them with fully-intact bladed limbs. Kururu stood, then stumbled back into a sitting position—his legs had gone numb from being pinned. He glanced at the laptop and wondered if trying that key combo mattered anymore.

A giant foreleg lifted, the same one that had slashed Kururu's leg before he could undo his ejected seat's safety belt. The beginning and end of his troubles on XV-Kas.

It would have to cut down Tamama first. In a final attempt to rob satisfaction from his enemy, Kururu grabbed Tamama's ankles, and yanked him to the ground. Razor death zinged over them.

Someone snatched the broken piercing tube off the ground. They jumped onto the flea's back, and shoved the tube under a chitinous plate behind the flea's head. 

While the flea struggled to face forward without success, Kururu was lifted to his feet. The upward rush went to his head, and a warm, solid ghost steadied him by the shoulders.

Kururu's name and rank reached him, the intonation the same as ever. He heard Tamama's name among other questions his brain refused to parse.

"He's dying," Kururu said, and fainted against Keroro's shoulder.


	12. We've Reconvened

Keroro staggered back to camp with a subordinate under each arm, dragging a muddy satchel behind him. Giroro and Dororo relieved him of their injured teammates with little hesitation.

As soon as his arms were free, Keroro sat with a thump, breathless. He wrangled the bag's strap off his shoulders and over his head, letting it flop behind him.

"Kururu said Tamama was dying." Keroro kept his head down as he spoke between breaths. "Then he passed out on me. Real helpful, Professor Kukkuru."

Giroro laid Kururu on his back and glanced at Dororo, who had knit his brow at Keroro's report. Dororo positioned Tamama near the sodden campfire, and took account of the private's condition.

"His ribs were bruised when I first found him." As Dororo checked him over with light touches, Tamama's face cinched up in pain. "But it doesn't look like the flea caused him any further damage. Something else must have happened after I left."

Giroro finished slipping a folded section of tarp under Kururu's head, and stepped over to Dororo. "You said you brought medicine."

Dororo pointed to the satchel Keroro had brought. "Kururu and I split our inventory. He took most of the medical supplies, including the painkillers and antibiotics."

"Keroro, did they have anything like that on them?" Giroro asked.

Keroro shook his head. "All I found was this bag, and Kururu's computer. I was kind of in a hurry." He opened the damp satchel and took out the well-weathered laptop. A small chunk had been knocked off a corner at some point. Then he blinked, and reached further into the bag. "Oh hey, look at this," he said, pulling out a few fat gauze rolls.

Dororo's hand was on the first roll Keroro found. He tore off and folded a short length of gauze, dampened it with the disinfectant from his satchel, and set about cleaning Tamama's cuts and scrapes.

Giroro moved to sit by Kururu, gesturing for some gauze. Keroro scooted closer to give him a roll, then raised tentative hands over the ragged bandage on the sergeant major's right leg.

"Wait." Giroro looked at Dororo. "When did you say you cauterized this?"

Dororo kept his eyes on Tamama as he worked. "A little over a day ago."

Giroro nodded to Keroro, who gingerly tore the bandage lengthwise and put it aside. A long red mark dominated Kururu's calf, not quite hiding a cut of similar length.

Keroro hissed in air through his teeth. "What the heck happened to him?"

"Dororo filled me in while you were away," Giroro said. "He found Kururu with an infected leg, and field-dressed it." He borrowed the disinfectant and dabbed it on the injury with a piece of gauze. "Looks like he did a damn fine job, too."

"I'll say." Keroro watched Giroro bandage up Kururu's leg, hands fidgeting for something to do. Giroro gave him the gauze roll and disinfectant, then got up to rekindle the campfire. As Keroro tended to Kururu's scrapes, he added, "But I hate to think of how he got hurt in the first place."

"They weren't in good condition when I found them." Dororo's voice mingled with the sizzle of dry burning brush. "If I hadn't found them when I did, they might not have survived."

Keroro shared a look with Giroro, then sat back, setting the gauze and disinfectant aside. With the campfire stoked into a small blaze, Dororo shifted Tamama closer to its warmth.

"How's Tamama?" Keroro asked.

Dororo sat with his legs tucked under himself, hands clenched on his knees. "He's doing the worst out of all of us. If the antibiotics were lost, then there's little we can do." He stared hard at the ground. "I have one method left, but it may be too risky in Tamama's current state."

"Wait. How'd you guys get out here so fast?" Keroro interrupted Dororo's pensiveness with some disbelief. "And how'd those two come this far out with a bum leg and busted ribs between 'em?"

That's when Kururu decided to regain consciousness. He rolled onto his side with a groan and pushed himself up, rubbing underneath his glasses.

A _ku_ squeaked out as Keroro tackle-hugged him from the right. "Mister Exposition! It's about time!"

Kururu appeared more worn-out than annoyed from all the touching. "So that wasn't a dream." He wedged a hand between his face and Keroro's, and the sergeant released his hold, pouting. Kururu adjusted cracked glasses, taking in the rest of the platoon. He paused on Giroro and said, "Well, at least I got my wish."

Giroro blinked at him with his unbandaged eye, not sure how miffed to be. He crossed his arms and scoffed. "You never change, even at a time like this."

"That's Kururu quality," Kururu said, not meaning for that line to sound every bit as drained as he felt. He glanced away, and found a red arm offering a canteen. Giroro said nothing as Kururu accepted it and took a drink.

"Do you know what's wrong with Tamama?" Keroro looked Kururu in the eye. "Is he really...?"

Kururu focused on closing up the canteen; he had to break eye contact before answering. "He's... not good. Thanks to his ribs, he probably aspirated a little every time he drank. Didn't know 'til it was too late."

Keroro furrowed his brow. "But he's still with us. We can do something for him." He inched closer to Kururu. "Right?"

Kururu found himself leaning away, cornered by the campfire. "That's what those antibiotics were for, and they're gone now." He gave Tamama's still form a once-over, and sighed. "My plan's the only real chance he's got left." Dororo perked to attention, and Giroro's eyes shifted from Dororo to Kururu in curiosity. "We need to lure the flea out here. Then I'll—"

"We're not doing any operations without Tamama." Keroro's soft voice belied his firm expression. "I want all of us on board for this. We didn't go through hell and come back together just to leave one man out when we need everyone the most."

"But Commander," Kururu said. The campfire reflected in Keroro's solid black pupils, sucking away Kururu's will to protest. "If we don't kill that thing now, there's no way he'll—"

Tamama started hacking like his lungs were trying to escape. Seeing an out, Kururu crawled over to him. The coughing fit woke Tamama up, though his alertness was debatable. Keroro was already at his side, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Can you hear me, Private?" Keroro said. "We've reconvened. The platoon's been reunited." He smiled. "Everything's gonna be all right."

Tamama blinked. Then his eyes slowly widened. "Sarge?" he whispered. "You're not a ghost?"

"I'm not dead, dummy." Keroro gave Tamama's shoulder a gentle shake. "Why's everyone gotta think I'm dead? This piece'a work don't go down _that_ easy."

Tamama tried to giggle, and made himself cough and wince instead. "Is Kururu... is he gonna do the plan?" He turned to face the yellow in his peripheral vision, and Kururu twitched. "Sorry I can't help." Shaky inhale. "Can't do anything anymore."

The other four watched Tamama's eyelids close, his face go slack, and a chill went through them.

"Tamama!" Keroro grasped the private's shoulders, trembling in the effort not to shake him. "We're supposed to finish this mission as a platoon! We _need_ you!"

Giroro steadied the sergeant with a hand on one shoulder, and Keroro squeezed his eyes shut. Kururu faced away from everyone, shoulders stiff. Dororo took in Tamama's peaceful expression, and slipped a hand behind his sword.

Kururu was busy watching the ground go out of focus when he heard the lance corporal's low voice.

"Hold him still," Dororo said, and crammed a spiky little ball down Tamama's throat.

Tamama's eyes flew open, pupils reduced to tiny dots as he thrashed with Dororo's hand clamped over his mouth. Keroro froze, unprepared, and Giroro bumped past him to pin Tamama's arms.

The flailing stopped the instant Tamama swallowed. He went limp, eyes rolling back into his head.

Keroro stared, slack-jawed. Then he rounded on Dororo with a stricken shriek. "You _murdered_ him!"

Dororo took his hand off Tamama's mouth and met Keroro's accusing words and eyes. "It was the only way."

Giroro held Keroro back from lunging over Tamama to strangle Dororo and said, "Wait. Haven't we seen that pill before?"

"Gero?" Keroro blinked at the corporal. "That thing was a pill?"

Giroro nodded. "Some sort of ninja panacea." He glanced at Dororo. "I'd completely forgotten about it."

"So had I." Dororo closed his eyes for a moment. "It's not an easy remedy, but we've little other choice."

Tamama's breathing came out shallow among the campfire crackles. Keroro leaned back on his palms and sighed. "Ya coulda told us what it was first."

Kururu kept his back turned as he scrubbed under his glasses with hasty movements. He readjusted them and faced the group again, nonchalant as anything. "Dororo's not much for advance warnings. It's his assassin side."

Tamama's groans drew their attention. The four watched his sleeping face scrunch up in pain, hands clenching and unclenching at nothing.

Dororo moved to make Tamama more comfortable. "He'll be like this while the medicine takes effect. How long it takes is up to him."

A tense silence reigned. Only Kururu pretended to focus on something else, laptop open in front of him. He might have been more convincing if he hadn't left the keyboard untouched.

It wasn't until the fire burned low that they all noticed Tamama was breathing normally again. Before anyone could acknowledge the improvement, his eyes cracked open, focusing on the nearest person.

"Sarge?"

Keroro jolted in his half-dozing state. He looked down at Tamama, and blinked his eyes wide open. "You're back!"

The rest of the platoon took notice when Keroro raised his voice, and watched as Tamama sat up.

"How do you feel?" Keroro asked. Tamama stared back, and his eyes filled with tears. "What's wrong? Does it still hurt?"

Tamama raised quivering arms, grasped the sergeant to him like an unsuspecting teddy bear, and bawled.

Nobody was brave enough to pry Tamama off until Keroro's face turned purple.

* * *

When the sun rose, Giroro doused the fire, and Dororo spread his emergency blanket across the ship debris to give everyone shade.

With that accomplished, the platoon took a day off out of pure necessity. Keroro and Giroro had fared comparatively well, but Kururu and Tamama needed time to regain their strength. No one felt like pointing out how much Dororo needed it, too.

Keroro made a quick jaunt back to where the flea had last appeared, and returned with a bottle full of marble-sized medicine. Kururu made monotone demands with grabby hands until Keroro forked it over. He'd never seen anyone pop a pill so fast. Kururu then pointed to Tamama, saying something about kindly shutting him up. Apparently, he'd been whimpering in his sleep.

Tamama slept most of the day, and only woke up for food, water, and painkillers. Then he cuddled up to Keroro again, who had sat next to him at the wrong time. Stealthy attempts to wriggle free resulted in Tamama tightening his grip, complete with pleasant sleepy noises.

Kururu slept for several hours himself, then got antsy. The others could tell because he started prodding Tamama right after sundown.

"Not yet, Momocchi." Tamama rolled over between drowsy mumbles. "Five more minutes."

Keroro scooted away the second he got free, wincing an eye shut. "Jeez, my foot fell asleep."

Kururu continued poking Tamama's arm. "You've made us wait long enough. It's time to bring Commander and Giroro up to speed on the plan."

Keroro perked up. "Gero?"

Tamama grumbled, then snapped his eyes open. "Oh yeah." He sat up and yawned. Though his left side still sported colorful bruises, his eyes were bright, and his movements steady.

"So you're finally going to tell us this plan of yours?" Giroro had just finished starting the campfire, emergency blanket roof supplanted by emerging stars. He'd removed a few of his bandages earlier, including the one over his unscarred eye. Dororo was seated across from him.

Kururu waited until everyone's eyes were on him. "Okay, folks. It's been a real shitshow out here from Day One. Among other delightful events, Giroro had a shot at killing the flea, and he beefed it."

Giroro bristled and grit his teeth, glaring holes into the ground.

"But that ain't how this story ends," Kururu said. "Because it's Dramatic Reveal Time."

Not far outside that cozy meeting around a meager campfire, silence ruled the wastes of XV-Kas. Even the wind was still that night.

Until Keroro and Giroro's shocked cries shattered it.

Kururu laughed, soaking in their bug-eyed reactions. "Pretty great, huh?"

Giroro managed to compose himself first. "But... how do you expect to lure it to the right spot? It's gone berserk. We're lucky it's still diurnal in its current state."

"I think we already know how to attract it." Kururu grinned meaningfully at Keroro. "Isn't that right, Commander?"

Keroro bolted up like he'd been called on in class. "What?! Why would I—"

The others stared at him.

"Oh. Of course!" Keroro chuckled with a _gero-gerori,_ as if he hadn't been the last one to make the connection. "We can totally do that! Great idea, glad I thought of it."

* * *

Dawn crept over windswept rust. The fire had gone cold minutes ago, dirt kicked over it to smother the smoke.

A few paces away, five Keronians stood together in a circle, faces lifted to the sky as the last of the stars disappeared.

_Gero gero..._

_Tama tama..._

_Giro giro..._

_Kuru kuru..._

_Doro doro..._

Their combined resonance carried across cracked earth and outsped the lethargic breeze, bouncing off mountains and cliffs for miles around.

Shaking began in brief but measured intervals. The Keroro Platoon called, and their ravenous enemy answered.

Keroro, Giroro, and Dororo set off at once to intercept it. Tamama watched them leave while Kururu sat before his open laptop. The private's gaze lingered on the sergeant's retreating form, then he sat by Kururu, eyes on the screen.

The departing trio's role in Kururu's plan was to keep the flea busy in one spot a safe distance away from camp. Tamama had wanted badly to join them, but the others agreed he still needed time to recover from his too-recent brush with death. That didn't mean he was out of the operation—Keroro had mentioned Kururu would need someone to cover him, just in case. It didn't deter Tamama's disappointment, but it bolstered his confidence, at least.

With the team split into two parties and no Keronian left alone, the Keroro Platoon's final operation on XV-Kas commenced.

—

The space flea towered before three childhood friends. Its face remained cocked at an odd angle, thanks to the broken-off mouthparts rammed behind its head. Keroro gripped explosives Giroro had cobbled together in both hands, while the corporal had one loaded in the acid shooter.

Dororo unsheathed his sword with hardly a sound, and focused his chi. "I'll draw its attention, while you two confine its movements. Are we agreed?"

Keroro and Giroro shared a glance. Dororo was taking charge as if he hadn't been fighting exhaustion since he stumbled into them two days ago.

Giroro nodded. "I'm ready."

"Go for it, Dororo." Keroro raised a grenade. "We're right behind you!"

Dust puffed up where Dororo had just been standing. Then the flea staggered and flailed its forelegs ineffectually at the blue streak bouncing speedy strikes off its hide.

Keroro pulled the pin, did a two-count, then threw the first hand-made grenade. It exploded near the flea's feet, and it jerked short of stepping into the small pit the blast created. Keroro followed it up with another, while Giroro shot one over and behind the flea.

With its sight gone, the flea was averse to stepping on uneven ground. The trio kept up their assault as the flea stumbled in place.

—

Kururu's map showed active red and blue dots keeping a large orange one still. The explosions reached the camp in faint echoes, but came through his and Tamama's in-ear comm links with clarity defying distance.

"I wish I could see what's happening out there," Tamama said, hands fisted over crossed legs.

Kururu's glasses caught the orange morning sunlight as he focused on the screen. "What matters is that chitinous bastard's not goin' anywhere." He positioned his hands over the crucial key combo once more. "Get dead, space-shitlord."

And he pressed.

—

Giroro arced another grenade over the flea's back to keep it from straying too far left. As he reloaded the acid shooter with one of his few remaining explosives, Dororo reappeared on the ground, one hand supporting him as he knelt.

Dororo's distraction attacks had become less frequent and his seconds-long breathers more so. The details weren't clear to Giroro, but Dororo had pushed himself to take care of the others while they were separated. He hadn't been injured like Kururu and Tamama, but wasn't much better off, either. Dororo was running on fumes, Giroro thought, he _had_ to know that.

Giroro fired his fourth-to-last grenade and put a hand to his ear. "Kururu, we've got the flea in place. What's taking so long?!"

"I called it a few minutes ago. Just keep it up a little longer," Kururu said. "Once it reaches your position, it should—"

" _Look out!_ " Keroro screeched, and Giroro jerked his head up.

Dororo was still on the ground as the flea turned to face him. He tensed to spring away, but stumbled as his legs failed to bear his weight.

The flea lunged with its jagged, broken mouthparts, and Dororo went flying.


	13. Impenetrable vs. Invincible

Dororo landed in a rough heap at Keroro's feet. He folded in on himself, his left arm and side torn and bleeding.

Regret raked through Keroro's insides. He should have tried harder to convince Dororo to stay behind. He should have overrode Dororo's stingy ninja stubbornness with a commander's order. He shouldn't have wanted all three of them to fight the flea, just because it made sense for a climactic final battle.

His regret ignited, screaming out of him. Keroro jumped up the flea's carapace and onto its back.

Giroro cursed, firing the last of his explosives in a rapid triple-shot. He had to keep the flea too busy to throw itself onto its back, crushing his commander and his best friend.

Keroro gripped the piercing mouthparts he'd shoved behind the flea's head-plate, and heaved back hard. It started stuttering loose, then slid out so fast Keroro tumbled backwards. The head made a bone-grinding sound as it scraped back into place.

The flea swayed dangerously close to falling on one side, then the other, while Keroro clung to its back in the world's worst rodeo. He pulled himself up, hand over hand, and somersaulted to land between the flea's empty eye socket and what remained of its mouthparts. Brandishing the rest of the tube, Keroro pointed the business end socket-ward, and stabbed.

Purple ichor textured like ketchup bubbled up and welled out. The merciful lack of spurting meant the flea was on its last legs. Eager to capitalize on this, Keroro drove the makeshift spear in as far as it would go.

"I said _move,_ dammit!" Giroro's voice reached Keroro above the blood pounding in his ears. "It's almost here! Get outta the way!"

Keroro had no idea what Giroro was yelling about. The only danger around was the flea, and Keroro had it right where he—

_Oh._

Keroro released the piercing tube and jumped clear of the flea. The ground crumbled under its front legs as a laser-drilling vehicle erupted from directly below. Staring and doing a dramatic gasp didn't make the scene happen in slow motion, and Keroro hit the ground with a graceless squawk.

The laser-driller fully emerged and made deafening contact with the flea's heavily-plated underside.

—

Tamama heard the grinding all the way back at camp. The cracked and scuffed laptop screen showed a remote link Kururu had established with the laser-driller back in the chasm. The driller had its own teal dot on the map, halfway-overlapping the flea's. Kururu, Dororo, and Tamama had dug themselves out of the chasm with that same machine.

The cat-like aliens of XV-Kas had killed their flea without assistance somehow, and paid with all their lives. But Kururu wasn't aiming for equal exchange.

"Come on," he muttered, fingers taut on the keys as he made minute adjustments to the drill's aim. "Come on..."

—

Giroro hoisted Dororo over one shoulder, taking care not to aggravate his wounds. Blood dripped onto the ground as Dororo struggled to stay conscious. The laser-drill was so loud that Giroro felt more than heard Dororo's apologies.

Keroro ran up to them. "Get Dororo back to camp _now,_ " he said, panting.

"What about you?!" Giroro said.

Keroro shook his head. "Don't question me! Just follow my orders!"

Giroro's eyes went to the dirt, then met Keroro's again. "Roger!" He secured his hold on Dororo, and took off.

Keroro stood with every muscle tense as the laser-driller sparked against the flea's hide. Kururu's secret weapon was making zero headway.

A short burst of static made Keroro flinch, and Kururu's voice came through. "Commander, you gotta get inside the driller and take the controls."

Keroro pressed a hand to his codec-ear. "Wasn't controlling it _your_ idea?"

"Yeah, but I can't aim it in the right spot." Kururu sounded more than a little chagrined. "It's gotta be positioned _exactly_ between the fourteenth and fifteenth plates, where the exoskeleton's slightly less solid."

Keroro stared up at the laser-drill as Kururu spoke. Through the flashing sparks, he could just make out where Kururu wanted the drill to be. It was slightly off, but even that slim margin of error made the effort fruitless.

"If you can't finish it off in a few more minutes, it'll run outta fuel," Kururu said. "And that'll be it."

Keroro clenched his fists. "Got it." He sprinted for the laser-drill. "Giroro should be back with Dororo in a second. Take care of him for me."

"What do you mea—holy hell." The connection went mute. Kururu's hushed surprise told Keroro enough.

Keroro reached the machine a moment later, and clambered up the side with it standing on its treads at an angle. He struggled with the door, yanked it open, and fell inside.

A modest seat waited before endless controls. Buttons and dials spread across the entire front panel. Keroro shook his head to make sure he wasn't seeing double, then realized most of them weren't relevant to killing space fleas. He bounced into the driver's seat and grasped the control stick in both hands. It resembled Pekoponian manual transmission, and the drill's vibrations rattled up his arms.

Keroro squinted through the windshield, counted abdominal plates down to the sweet spot, and eased the control stick forward. Impenetrable alloy grinding against invincible armor filled his senses, the lasers spiraling on the drill itself glowing from orange to white. His eyes ached from sparks flashing off the windshield as he struggled to suss out the exact right position.

Something pinged off the reinforced glass. Keroro froze, too startled to yelp, as more came—shiny chestnut, cola candy shattering on the sidewalk.

The windshield exploded inward as the flea smashed a bladed foreleg through. It stabbed into the seat back, nicking Keroro's face and pinning him by an earflap. His nerves lit up in terror.

He strained to keep his arms steady on the control stick as the flea tore its leg free. Keroro yanked himself forward in the seat the instant he could move again, hands wrapped in a double-deathgrip as chitin chips sliced past his arms and face.

The flea reared its foreleg back, and lunged for the space between Keroro's eyes. He threw his full weight against the control stick and roared.

* * *

The platoon's ship scattered away from Dororo in pieces, and the sky roared in.

Their anti-barriers automatically glimmered to max in response to the sudden change in pressure. But as the Keron Army's top assassin-turned-ninja, only Dororo remained conscious.

He scarcely had time to register the others plummeting insensate through the rusty clouds before a bladed foreleg sang past his ear. Trained reflexes took control, and he jumped against the air to evade.

But the space flea wasn't just after him. As Dororo sought a better position, the flea rolled over to face Kururu and Tamama, still strapped into their seats.

" _Meteor Cross!_ " Dororo created and flung a giant glowing shuriken in the time it took for the flea to swing its mouthparts within inches of Tamama's head. The energy splintered apart on the flea's carapace, leaving no marks.

They fell out of the cloud layer, revealing the barren surface of XV-Kas. Dororo stepped on air, flea, and air once more to put himself between the parasite and his teammates.

He locked his gaze with the flea's single eye, sword held ready, and hoped Koyuki would forgive him.

An explosion blindsided the flea, bowling Dororo over with a gunpowder-tinged shockwave. He righted himself and looked up.

Giroro had a rocket launcher over one shoulder, and a small metal-banded sphere in his other hand—the flea-killing acid round. The corporal had awoken, and dimensional weapon storage hadn't gone offline yet.

Dororo glanced at his remaining three teammates. They'd been spread farther apart by the blast, out of the flea's reach. Keroro's rank insignia had cracked in two, the anti-barrier's glittering shield gone.

The contours of the land below rushed up at them, too detailed. Dororo and Giroro could find ways to survive the landing, and Kururu and Tamama's chairs were designed to absorb the shock.

Keroro was too far away for Dororo to reach in time. He caught Giroro's eyes—he knew it, too.

Giroro swung the rocket launcher down and fired.

Time slowed to a crawl as the rocket exploded on the ground. Keroro dropped toward the blast, ragdolled off the shockwave, and rolled across the dirt.

Dororo faced skyward, searching for Giroro and the flea, and a dark canyon swallowed him whole.

* * *

The foreleg's slicing edge dominated Keroro's center of vision. Chunky liquid spilled out on the ground somewhere nearby.

Chitin chips had stopped flying in at some point, and the drill produced a shrill whirr. Keroro dragged in a breath; the foreleg had stopped an inch from his face. The drill spun down, laser coils fading.

The driller creaked and tilted sideways. Keroro's sweaty hands slipped off the control stick, and he hit the inside of the other door as the space flea toppled over.

Numerous cuts decorated Keroro's skin, some with flea shards still stuck in them. He picked out the offending pieces with a grimace, then climbed up to the opposite door. He kicked it open, pulled himself halfway out of the machine, and looked down.

The space flea was on its side, unmoving, in a spreading puddle of goo. Giant viscera leaked from a gaping hole in its underside.

Keroro landed by the mess and stared. It didn't feel real enough. After the clamor of imminent death came too quiet an aftermath.

 _Maybe the drill was so loud, I went deaf._ Serene, sound reasoning, he thought. _Or this is all a dream. It just stabbed right through my brain, and this is my final—_

"What the hell was that noise?!" Giroro all but snarled over the comm link. Keroro winced and clapped a hand to the offending ear. "Is it—"

"What's goin' on, Sarge?!" Tamama sounded well enough for a conniption.

"Fuel gauge is reading zero, Commander. That thing better be dead." Kururu's voice carried a tone of rare intensity.

Keroro stared at the gore. He swallowed the dryness in his throat and creaked out, "I'm practically standing in its guts right now."

Silence, then a chorus of cheers. Dawning victory turned Keroro's limbs to jelly, and he plopped onto his rear.

He eventually put a hand to his ear again. "Can someone come get me? I can't feel my legs."

—

"I'll be right there!" Tamama sprang up and raced off.

"Hey!" Giroro's protest went unheard. He glanced down at Dororo, torn with indecision. Dororo laid still, arm and torso thick with fresh bandages; he'd lost consciousness before making it back to camp.

 _I've failed you,_ Dororo had said in a thousand broken ways as Giroro rushed him to safety across the wasteland. Sometimes, Dororo's sense of responsibility mixed with his stubborn streak in ways Giroro wished they didn't.

"Keep an eye on him," Giroro told Kururu, and sprinted after Tamama. Kururu rolled his eyes; with his leg still healing, it wasn't like he had a choice.

He focused on the map. He'd worked around the life sign limitation by swapping out signals as needed. The only one he couldn't track was Keroro with his damaged rank insignia, so comm link responses were all he had to go by.

Kururu swapped out Dororo's signal for Tamama's, and watched the black and red dots move across the screen together. A few seconds later, the flea's large orange dot, an ever-ominous presence on the grid, vanished.

An error popped up in its place. _Life signal U_NOMI lost._

Kururu gave it a good long stare, then clicked OK.

* * *

After the warmth of their hard-won victory faded, everyone realized they had no way back home. Except Kururu, who revealed the rest of his secret plan.

The laser-driller's usefulness didn't stop with the flea—its parts, combined with that hollow carcass, would become their new spaceship. The flea's exoskeleton was impervious to the cold vacuum of space, and wouldn't decay, either. Dororo had seen proof of that in the mass grave at the bottom of the chasm.

The machine and corpse were left to the elements for a couple days to allow the platoon time to recuperate. Then they took the driller apart, combining it with remnants of their own ship to turn their vanquished enemy into a way back to Pekopon.

They scrounged up the remaining food and water from the chasm using the information Kururu had downloaded while he was there. He also requested a few suspiciously specific chemicals from one of the storage rooms. With those chemicals, he mixed a fuel cocktail powerful enough to break free of XV-Kas's orbit, and the gravitational influence of its bloated star.

Despite the sun's heat and their ragged state, the platoon completed preparations in three more days. With mattresses and blankets stripped from the chasm's sleeping quarters, and the last of their provisions stuffed into two satchels, they piled inside the flea-ship.

The hatch sealed over the entrance Keroro had drilled into the flea's abdomen with a hiss.

"I can't wait to put this place behind us for good," Giroro said as he settled in.

"Saaame." Keroro flopped back on one of the fluffy mattresses and sighed. "When I report to HQ, I'll just leave out this whole... _thing_ that happened."

Giroro scoffed, but knew as well as anyone that killing a space flea wasn't meant to be a struggle. None of them particularly wanted to explain why it had been so hard for them, either.

"I hope everyone already went to the little boys' room," Kururu said, laptop open in front of him. "Because the Dead Flea Express makes no stops."

Keroro thrust two fists upward. "Beam us up, Mr. Kuru!"

"I'm not even gonna dignify that with a correction. And-a-press!" Kururu whirled a finger, tapped a key, and the ship rumbled.

Keroro stared at the ceiling in anticipation. Then he sat up.

"Wait. Do we have air in this thing?"

The space-fleaship blasted off the surface of XV-Kas.

* * *

People had to dodge Fuyuki on the way home from school, but he couldn't help gazing into the sky as he walked. Eleven days had passed since the Keroro Platoon left on that mission Mois had talked about. Ten days since she lost contact with the ship from the base.

But the sky remained clear. Fuyuki tried to stay positive; Natsumi had to be worried, too. No news was good news, he hoped.

—

A flaming meteor the size of a small house crashed into Inner Tokyo, setting off car alarms and excitable dogs for miles. The Hinata siblings knew what it was before the news vans got rolling, because Mois flew outside on the Lucifer Spear like the world was ending without her.

Natsumi and Fuyuki ran after her, but they didn't have to go far. The meteorite had landed in an empty lot two streets over.

They caught up to Mois, who stood before a hulking lump, blackened and beaten from re-entry.

At length, Natsumi asked, "What the heck is _this_ supposed to be?"

"It looks insectoid." Fuyuki shifted out from behind the girls to investigate the smoking mass. "Maybe the shell contains some kind of arthropod alien, or—"

"Wait." Mois interrupted him with soft astonishment. "It's almost like... No, it looks _exactly_ like the space flea!"

The kids exchanged shocked glances, then flinched as a circular opening popped off the exoskeleton. Natsumi and Fuyuki edged closer to each other, eyes locked on the darkness inside.

A small green arm emerged, rust-stained and half-desiccated, and Keroro lurched his head out of the opening.

Joy lent power to Fuyuki's voice. " _Sergeant!_ "

Trembling, Keroro raised his head, gave a champion smile and a thumbs-up, then toppled into the crater.

"Uncle!" Mois rushed past Fuyuki and dropped to her knees by Keroro. She scooped him up, cradling him in her arms. "Oh my goodness, you made it back! What happened?!"

Natsumi poked her head inside the opening. "They're all here! Give me a hand, Fuyuki."

Mois flew home with Keroro in her lap, while the Hinata siblings walked to the house with a dirt-caked, injured, and dehydrated Keronian under each arm.

"They must've had a hard time dealing with that space flea," Fuyuki said, eyeing Kururu and Dororo's bandages. "But they saved Earth."

Taking care not to press on Tamama's bruises, Natsumi repositioned Giroro more securely in her other arm. He was just conscious enough to make a happy little noise. "Yeah, but wasn't it just so these stupid frogs would still have a planet to invade?"

"Isn't that a good thing?" Fuyuki smiled at his sister's incredulous expression. "If going to all this effort to protect us is part of the invasion, that's all right with me."

Natsumi looked at her feet and huffed. But she was smiling, too. "Then they'd better have a good story for us later."

_~The End.~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I hope everyone had a fun ride.


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